


Any Universe

by katalizi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Las Vegas AU, Las Vegas Wedding, Man from U.N.C.L.E, Philinda - Freeform, The Mummy AU, True Blood AU, Vampire AU, Vampires, Western, Wild West AU, Zombie Apocalypse, rival spies au, the mummy 1999
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katalizi/pseuds/katalizi
Summary: In any universe, anywhere, any time, two souls that are destined to be together find a way.





	1. Medieval Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> A series of au one-shots.

**Medieval Fantasy AU**

 

The night’s air had such a bitter, cutting edge to it that it even made Lord Coulson shudder slightly and tug his fur-lined cloak a little tighter. A part of him remembered a younger man who had declared an immunity to any and all type of weather, but that man now seemed almost lost to the shadows of the past and so very far away, particularly after the news he’d just received from King Fury. Unexpected, life-altering news scratched out in a few brief lines, delivered to him just a short time earlier, had left him more numb inside than any frost could hope to achieve. Numb, but still able to serve as duty dictated. Duty. He paused at the thought and drew in a deep breath, the icy air soothing in a strange way. What a hell of a duty was now thrust upon him.

The walk through the encampment was a brief one and he passed by the rows of tents where equally cold and dutiful soldiers were eating, gambling and exchanging stories, huddling around small fires in a way to not only ward off the cold of the night, but the unknowable, fearful future that awaited them. That the Armies of Hydra were now actually roaming the earth in reality and not just in some children’s story was enough to strike fear into even the most hardened of hearts, and there was now a mad scramble between neighbouring domains for allegiances. With new treaties being negotiated and old debts being called in, all while Hydra loomed like a shadow over everything, no-one was quite sure of their place in the world anymore and there had been more than one count of in-fighting that had frustrated Coulson to no end. After the eventful encounter with King Talbot Coulson had thought that nothing else could faze him. He’d been very wrong.

“Are the rumours true, then?” Young Daisy had materialised by his side as if by magic, although Coulson knew her particular brand of magic was anything but subtle. Which truly suited her.

“Rumours?” Coulson grimaced. “Really? Already? I’ve only just received the summons myself.”

“Soldiers talk faster than lords,” shrugged Daisy, keeping close to Coulson’s side and ignoring all the wondrous looks that followed her as she passed by. People might’ve heard many stories of the magical beings called Inhumans but actually seeing one — and a powerful one at that — did tend to alarm even the most harden soldier. “And you yourself mentioned that it might be a possibility.”

“There is a vast chasm between possibility and reality, Daisy,” said Coulson. “And in reality …” He paused in his stride and for the first time allowed her to see his genuine concern. “I didn’t expect this.”

Daisy gave him a small smile of support and reached out to grasp his hand. Once again, this action caused those who didn’t know better to raise their eyebrows. Everyone had heard the stories of the Lord of the Shield who had adopted and raised a wild witch, but seeing it still shocked. They were equalled ignored.

“May I accompany you?” she asked softly.

“I believe Fury would be more suspicious if you didn’t,” smiled Coulson.

Soon they were both inside King Fury’s lavish war-tent, a large warm space where a group of people already awaited them, standing about a splendid table where the current territories and battles were marked out. King Fury stood at the head, a powerful, commanding presence that age couldn’t yet touch and a stare that wasn’t dulled by the lack of an eye. Three new comers were gathered on the far side of the table, two younger attendants who eyed both Coulson and Daisy with open wariness and an older woman who radiated a cold calm that made the night’s air seem like a springtime breeze. As Coulson walked in his gazed locked unexpectedly with hers and for an instant the two of them froze. Others in the room saw the surprise; no-one saw the recognition. After a second’s hesitation Coulson carefully bowed his head in deference, never once breaking his gaze. Her eyed widened a fraction but other than that, she didn’t move.

Fury nodded towards him in a way that almost seemed friendly and Coulson didn’t miss how the cold woman seemed to note that. “Lord Coulson. Thank you for arriving so soon. And Daisy Johnson.” As he said her name he smiled in his own particular way, but Coulson was sure the three new comers didn’t see it. “An unexpected pleasure, to be sure, but still … it is better that you are here for this. Allow me to introduce you to the Lady Simmons, her escort Sir Fitz and … her Majesty Queen Melinda.”

“Your majesty,” said Coulson respectfully as he sketched out a more formal bow to his previous one. After a pointed look from him Daisy bowed too.

Queen Melinda and her party remained unmoved, and Coulson was sure he wasn’t imagining the look of contained hostility that was radiating from the younger pair, particularly the Lady Simmons. 

She proved him correct as she turned to Daisy and without preamble said, “Daisy Johnson? Just that? Why, did the _Lord_ never think to grant you a title?”

Coulson shot an amused look towards Fury who responded in kind, both too old to engage in such petty bickering yet still able to be amused by it. Queen Melinda remained almost suspiciously still. Daisy, however, was much quicker to the bait.

“I neither desire nor require a title,” she bit out, head high. “A title is meaningless if you are lacking in personal strength to see your will done.”

The Lady nearly sneered at this. “Oh yes, we’ve heard all about your ‘strength’, but I’m afraid that none of us are wide-eyed peasants who’ll quake at your magic.”

Suddenly Lady Simmons gave a shrill shout as the ground beneath her sprung a foot out of the ground, propelling her up, backwards and thankfully into Fitz’s waiting arms. In the next instant the ground sealed shut as if nothing had ever happened. Daisy smirked at their shocked faces.

“Oh I don’t know. I think I can make you quake a little.”

And the whole time Melinda had watched the proceedings closely, and Coulson had watched her.

Fitz recovered quickly as he had his sword drawn before anyone could react, but Coulson couldn’t allow this to go any further as he quickly stepped forward, hands out-stretched.

“Enough!” he said. He turned his gaze to Melinda. “Tell your man to stand down; you’ve seen what you wanted to see … and next time? Just ask Daisy for a demonstration of her incredible magic. If you ask nicely she’s usually more than willing.” He turned away from Melinda’s barely contained surprise to Daisy, who had quickly gone from smug to embarrassed, face flushed. “Don’t rise so quick to other’s baits,” he said softly before turning his attention back to the three, his voice suddenly like steel. “And if you antagonise my ward again I will bring you horrors that you’ve only dreamed of.”

“And this is exactly how I hoped this meeting would go,” said Fury, sarcasm dripping from his words. “If we’re done with our posturing I’d like to get down to matter at hand.” He gestured for them to all move closer to the table and they did so, with only the three youngsters still wary. “Queen Melinda hails from Trillieon,” he pointed to a section of the map that was marked by a series of mountains, but while Coulson kept one eye on the map, most of his attention was fixated on Melinda. Whether or not she knew or cared that he was watching her, he couldn’t tell. “It’s one of the most isolated kingdoms in the region and the smallest.” Daisy snorted at this and Fury fixed his stare on her. “Don’t be fooled — Trillieon has withstood invasion and conquest for nearly three hundred years and the Queen here is descended from a line that goes back even further than that. They are a formidable people from an incredibly inhospitable region who would make a significant ally.”

“But you’re not just looking for a treaty, are you?” Everyone turned towards the Queen as she spoke for the first time, her voice beautiful and cold, laced with an unspoken accusation.

“No,” said Fury without a shred of regret. “Because the Trillieon people, particularly their royalty, have been known in the past to be … how should I put it …?”

“Traitorous,” said Daisy flatly.

Fitz slammed his fist against the table. “Apologise!”

Daisy laughed. “Or what? You’ll wave your little knife at me again?”

“Enough!” snapped the Queen, her icy facade cracking for just an instant, causing the entire room to still. Ever Fury looked mildly impressed. Melinda took a breath before continuing in her cool manner. “It’s true that we have … a reputation. But I am not my fore-mothers. Our lands that border yours have not seen conflict in nearly a hundred years because _we_ have kept the peace. And those that border the lands of Hydra haven’t been breached in nearly two hundred. If our two nations become allies then we will be able to protect your lands to the south.”

“And if you betray that trust, Hydra will have an open pathway right into my domain,” said Fury coldly.

Melinda’s eyes flared in anger. “So you’re going to hold our ancestors grudge against us?”

“I’m just learning from past mistakes,” shot back Fury. “And so should you. Yes, Trillieon hasn’t been invading in three hundred years, but I know what happened the last time you were.” At this the Queen’s face lost all its colour. “No-one came to your aid and you were left to burn. Now we have actual soldiers of Hydra wandering free and you’re going to let your pride ruin your only chance for safety?”

“Trillieon has weathered these storms before,” said Melinda, head high, but Coulson could see she was shaking.

“No you haven’t,” said Fury, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Not like this.”

For the entire exchange Coulson had been watching her closely as another image of this cold woman drifted through his mind. Of long ago, when she was younger, roughly dressed, a woman who laughed and played practical jokes on a young esquire as he struggled to keep up with her. Another memory, the shock of a fist to his side and her screams as she told them to _stop_ , the title of princess floating past as if in a dream, a strange sense of confusion and doubt as he wondered _who was she, really?_ Moments in times, rising again from a twenty year slumber, a youthful adventure cut short. He hadn’t seen her since, but he’d recognised her anywhere. And he knew she had recognised him.

 _What happened to you?_ he wondered silently, surprised at how his heart twisted at the thought. _Where did that light-hearted, excitable girl go?_

Aloud, he finally spoke. He tried to keep his tone light and teasing. “Am I truly such a terrible option that you’d rather risk invasion?”

At her shocked look he knew he’d failed to inject joviality into the situation and he felt his heart sink. _I don’t want to hurt you_ , he thought, the words desperate to come forward, but in the current situation he knew they’d be unwelcome. Fury quickly tried to correct his mistake.

“As badly put as that is, he’s right,” he said. “Marriage with Coulson means that you would then be part of the Shield as a matter of blood, not just ink. He is of a lesser rank so you would not have to relinquish sovereignty yet he is also a member of my Court, so my concerns about your possible betrayal would be greatly relieved. You must see that this is your best option.”

“You present it as my only option,” said Melinda through gritted teeth.

“Not really. We could get married, combine our domains.” Lady Simmons’ jaw-drop was almost comical and Coulson heard Daisy choke on her laugher. “But I don’t think either of us are prepared to move. Or we could invade you.” Any amusement died, as everyone could see that Fury was serious. “Sure, you’ve held us back for one hundred years but last I heard Trillieons didn’t have any Inhuman residents — actually fear them more than most — and Daisy here isn’t the only magic soldier we have. Or go it alone. As far as you can.”

Melinda held her chin high for a few moments longer before a terribly sad sigh escaped her lips and she bowed her head in defeat. Next to her Simmons and Fitz looked devastated and even Daisy was quiet in respect. After a few moments the Queen raised her head high once more and looked directly at Coulson, her gaze hard and heartbreaking. “And you? You’re happy to be a pawn in all this?”

Coulson didn’t shy from her gaze and met it with understanding. “Am I happy? That I’m part of a treaty that’s going to force a woman into an unwilling marriage?” He stopped and sighed. “No. Not at all. I am truly sorry that this is happening to you.”

“And is that it?” asked Melinda, and it seemed like something light and delicate started to reach out from her to him. “All this sorrow for me, none for yourself?”

He paused. “I never wed. I have no family but Daisy. I’ve spent so much of my life travelling that I’ve never really had a home. I do not believe that I would miss anything, and no-one would miss me. But you have an entire people that rely on you, and if they’re half as loyal as these two,” he nodded at Simmons and Fitz, “Then you are not only loved, but needed. Your Majesty … this is your best option. I wouldn’t interfere. We’ll be husband and wife in name only, but I will serve you as faithfully as if you had chosen me.”

The wind whispered mournfully around the tent. Coulson felt as if they were planning an execution rather than a wedding. Finally, Melinda spoke.

“Very well.” Her voice was soft but resolute. She turned to Fury. “I consent.”

Coulson felt his shoulders drop. He’d never thought he’d be married like this.

“That’s it?” He turned at Daisy’s outburst and was startled to see her shaking with rage. “You’re just going to … leave?”

“Daisy … of course not.” He reached out a calming hand. “But I didn’t want to speak for you.”

She blinked hard before a wave of understanding came over her. “You want me to come?”

“Yes,” he smiled at her before he turned back to the Trillieons. “And this is non-negational.”

Simmons scoffed and threw up her hands. “A second ago you said you wouldn’t interfere, and now you want to bring a witch into out home?” she cried. “Trillieon is the last place in the world that doesn’t have Inhumans yet you want to —”

“Of course you can accompany him,” Melinda addressed Daisy, her quiet voice cutting across Simmons in an instant. “After all, as he said … she is family.” Something about her gaze softened for a moment as she looked upon Daisy, before she straightened and abruptly declared, “It is late, and we’re still recovering from our journey. Lady Simmons will review the marriage contract, if it pleases you, and tomorrow we will reconvene and agree on the specifics.” She fixed her gaze again on Coulson, once more ice and steel. “And we’ll be married.”

Not knowing what to say to that, Coulson merely bowed low once more and before he had straightened his back she had departed.

Now they were in purely familiar company, Fury sighed deeply and walked away from the table towards a chest. “I am sorry, Coulson, for how this come about, but I won’t pretend that I’m not also grateful to you.” After digging about the chest for a few moment he emerge with an ancient bottle of liquor, which he handed to Coulson without ceremony. Coulson recognised it right away.

“Gods,” he muttered. “If I knew my marriage would’ve made you part with Elder Whiskey, I would’ve married years ago.”

Fury smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Share it with your new wife tomorrow.”

Later, as he and Daisy walked back to their tents, she spoke so softly that he missed it at first.

“Pardon?”

“I said …” she drew a deep breath. “You were wrong before. You would be missed. I would miss you.”

Coulson paused just outside his tent, then wordlessly pulled Daisy in for a hug. As they pulled back he smiled sadly at her. “How do you feel about becoming the only Inhuman in an entire domain?”

She shrugged. “I guess it’s just going to be like it was here years ago. Not fun, but I’ll manage.” She tilted her head as she studied him. “And you? You seemed … I don’t … kind of surprised when you saw Melinda.”

“You noticed that?” She nodded. “I was. You might not believe it, but we’ve actually met before.” Her eyes widened. “It’s true. I knew her years ago.”

“Strange that you should meet again like this, right?” said Daisy, a faint smile teasing him. “Almost like —”

“If you say ‘fate’, I’m leaving you behind!” Coulson jabbed a faux angry finger in her direction and she laughed. They had never agreed on the finer points of the universe but had long ago accepted their differences.

“Well, tonight certainly was interesting,” she said, her laughter fading.

Coulson sighed, suddenly weighed down by events that were yet to happen. His mind flickered towards Melinda and he found himself wondering what she was doing at that exact moment. Did she weep? Did she rage? No, for some reason all he could do was picture her reading the marriage contract with Simmons and Fitz, going over the finer details in a calm and controlled manner. Did he feature in her thoughts tonight? He didn’t flatter himself to think so.

“Yes,” he agreed, his mind elsewhere. “Very interesting.” 

 

 

 


	2. Western

**Western AU**

 

She would’ve seen him coming from miles off, even if she hadn’t been warned earlier. She’d chosen her home very carefully years ago, and its situation had served her well. A beautiful country home, small, old but well maintained, looked after with care and love. It backed onto a treacherous, thickly wooded forest, while the front afforded her a spectacular view of the golden wide spread plains that only ended on the far horizon where they met a mountain range, sharp blue angles topped with pure white snow. It was as remote as it was stunning, quiet, calm, and far too removed to be subject to unexpected visitors. And if anyone did happen to wander into her territory, Melinda May would always see them before they saw her.

It was late in the afternoon when she first noticed the trail of dust rising up from the road that cut like a ribbon across the plains, a slowly approaching conversation that she desperately did not want to have — regardless of how much she did want to see the man who was about to make her life so much more complicated. She’d sighed and wandered into the house, prepared a meal that became a bit of a novelty considering she was making enough for two for a change, before she boiled herself a small cup of tea and returned to her front porch to sit in her worn and comfortable rocking chair to await her both wanted and unwanted visitor. Slowly the dust became a speck, and the speck materialised into a man riding a horse, the details of that man only becoming clear as he reached the fence that boarder her property. He paused at her gate, still firmly shut, and managed to shoot a rueful grin towards her as he realised that she had been watching him approach for goodness-knew how long and had purposely made no effort to open the gate. Melinda knew a fair number of men who’d’ve growled and spat and cursed her name for that. Sherif Phil Coulson just laughed.

He jumped lightly from his horse and let himself in, closing the gate behind him and then walking the rest of the way to the house, his chestnut mare happily following behind. “Miss May!” he called out, touching the brim of his hat in a way both charming and familiar, but as much as she enjoyed the little flutter her heart gave as he called her name, she was also determined not to let him get away with his intentions.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Ah.” He paused as he took his horse to her barn to water. “I see you got my message.”

Over a week ago two strangers passing through had arrived at her home and had been greeted not only by Melinda herself, but by her shotgun cradled loosely by her side. Not so much to threaten as to make a point be known. The strangers, a blonde woman and an Englishman, didn’t seem too perturbed by this and once they’d made it known that they were delivering a letter from Coulson, she knew that he’d probably given them all the warning they needed.

“Yes, I received your letter and my answer stands.” She put her cup of half-finished tea aside and stood up, crossing the porch to lean against the railing as she watched him tie up his horse. She didn’t fail to notice his gun holstered to his hip, or the extra rifle strapped to his saddle. Coulson was always a cautious man but this was excessive even for him, and Melinda finally knew for certain that this wasn’t some sort of trick on his part to draw her back into the world. Yet, even as a sense of foreboding came over her, she still refused to be pushed, pulled or in any way cajoled back into the life she’d left behind. “I’m not coming back, Phil.”

“Yeah … because you have things set up so nicely out here.” He dusted off his hands and walked calmly over to join her, leaning against the rails in a mirror image of her stance. He drew in a deep, contented breath as he surveyed the wonderful vista. “You ever thought about adding a moat?”

She shot him an annoyed look to which he merely smiled in reply. “Would a moat stop you?” she asked.

Phil pretended to seriously consider that for a moment before he shook his head sombrely. “No, but it would slow me down. You know I can’t swim.”

Melinda turned to properly face him and as she looked into his worn face for the first time in six months she was surprised to see a faint pain hidden beneath his smile, a new weight that he was now bearing. While the details of the letter had been rather sparse she had known Phil long enough and well enough to guess at what he hadn’t included, but until she’d actually seen him in the flesh she hadn’t really considered how desperate he must be to come to her for help.

For years the two of them had rode together across the vast uncharted, unlawful territories, two youngsters trying to scrape out a living by any means possible before they’d discovered their shared skills in combat. As they’d matured the they’d gone from dancing ever so close to the wrong side of the law to somehow becoming the guardians of it, settling down in the remote township of Bakertown with him as the sherif and her as his loyal deputy. And after years of uncertainty and untethered living the two of them had finally managed to carve out a little place in the world just for themselves.

Before she had brought that all crashing down around them.

After that, she could no longer bare to be around normal folk. People who didn’t understand what she’d done and were too afraid of her to try, and as those sneering whispers and vicious rumours started to attack him as well as her she knew she could no longer stay. Phil had been devastated with her choice to leave, but somehow, at the time, she’d been able to rationalise to herself that it was really the best option for both of them. And what broke her heart the most was even when he’d made it clear he wanted her to stay, even when his offers of help were rebuffed and his pleas unanswered, in the end he’d simply supported her in her decision regardless of how it had hurt him. He’d let her go.

And now here he was, at her home with his hand out, years of history and unspoken desires hanging between them like a tangible thing. She wanted to go to him, to go back to how they’d been years ago. She wanted him to leave. And now, even though he was closer to her than he had been in months, the small distance between them suddenly became an almost physical pain to her.

He must’ve seen something change in her face because his smile faded and reached out to her. “Melinda …?”

She shrank from his touch and and he quickly dropped his hand. She felt a new stab of pain at how time and distance had now made something that had once been so common place between them now seem unnatural, and found herself halfway back inside her home before she’d even realised she’d moved, hand still on the doorframe. Phil hadn’t followed her. He hadn’t moved at all, just watched her carefully, sadly, and she wondered just how changed she was in his eyes to that other woman he’d travelled with long ago. He still seemed the same to her. Still acted like the gentleman even though she was no lady. She knew that if she shut the door in his face that would be the end of it. He wouldn’t shout or argue though the wooden barrier. He’d be back on his horse, riding through the night to Bakertown and he would never bother her again. She knew she wouldn’t even have to say a word.

She left the door open as she walked inside and a few moments later she heard him follow.

They now sat together at her small kitchen table, a pot of hot stew shared out between them while Phil filled her in on the finer details that the letter had missed. He sat hunkered down opposite her, elbows on the table, dust still on his tanned face and in his hair, completely unaware of how rough and weathered he looked. Melinda suddenly felt soft next to him, soft and clean and too long sheltered from the world.

“I wouldn’t ask you to go out on patrols,” he was saying, waving his spoon around for emphasis. “I know you don’t want to see any fire fights or anything of the like. ”

Her lips twisted, eyes on her meal. “Then you don’t need me.”

“I do,” he said, his voice incredibly soft. “I really do. It’s … it’s bad out there, Melinda. Real bad. No one travels after dark if they can help it, and lately it seems like there ain’t no safety in the light, neither. Folk haven’t felt safe in a long time, not since this new outlaw came onto the scene.”

Her mind went back to the letter. “Ophelia?”

He nodded. “I don’t know where she came from or how she’s done it, but she’s got men, money and more weapons than we could ever hope to match. Warring gangs have now suddenly put their grievances aside and banded together under her leadership and —” He broke off, fiddling with his spoon in a nervous manner that he was want to do, ever since they were young. “Honestly? I beginning to think she can’t be beat, this one. I need help, Melinda. I need you with me on this.”

Melinda could feel her conscience start to betray her as she considered his words, but still she resisted. “You need me?” she echoed. “But not in a fight.”

“I promise you won’t have to touch a gun,” he said, and she knew he meant it.

She let the silence draw out between them. “Then what do you need me for?” She paused and then, almost too soft to hear, “What else am I good for?”

This time when he reached out to her she let him, the calloused skin on his palm warm against her fingers. “You were always too hard on yourself. You know that, right?” _Or you were always too soft when it came to me_ , she thought, but even unspoken she could tell that he understood her. His hand tightened on hers. “I’d like to have you at the station. Managing the marshals, dealing with bounty hunters that get a little too trigger happy. I’d do it myself but I can’t be at there all the time these days, and I need someone I can trust.”

“And none of your new recruits measure up?” she asked, a touch suspiciously.

“They do,” he said. “They’re young and maybe a little green, but I have complete faith in them.” He paused as if debating his next words. “I think you’d like them. I know they like you.”

“How could they?” Melinda frowned. A tiny spark of anger ignited within her as she figured it out and she pulled her hand away from his. “Phil. What have you been telling them?”

“The truth,” he said simply looking completely unashamed, and she had to fight the sudden urge to smack him up the side of the head. The damn man!

“The truth?” she repeated, unable to keep the malice from her voice. “You been trying to impress moon-eyed strangers, have you? Telling those green youngsters glorious stories about the days when you rode with the Calvary?”

Phil smacked his spoon into his bowl and glared at her with equal anger. “ _No_. I told them about Melinda May, the bravest, kindest woman that ever rode these plains, the kind of person they should one day hope to be.”

Melinda scoffed and looked away, trying desperately to ignore the stinging pain of tears that pricked her eyes. Damn him. An hour back in her life and already he could do this to her. And what she hated the most was that, even after everything he’d seen, she knew that he absolutely believed what he was saying. But she couldn’t. “Well,” she said, her voice tightly controlled. “They would certainly get a shock if they were to actually meet me.”

A heavy silence descended upon them. Only after she was sure her tears were once again hidden did she dare to look back at him. His face was a mask.

After a long pause he spoke. “You really want to live out the rest of your days like this?”

She stared back. “There are worse fates.”

“Yes,” he grated out, his voice wavering dangerously and for a split second she saw every piece of hurt, pain, anger, longing, guilt and, worse of all, _love_ , that he was carrying, all with her name on it. Everything that he always kept carefully hidden away behind his quiet smile. “Yes, there are. Like being the one who gets left behind.”

Melinda’s heart actually hurt her. She wanted him gone. She wanted him to take her in his arms. She wanted to go back to how they used to be, so long ago.

And then he sighed and dropped his gaze, the tension leaking out the room only to be replaced by a light sadness. Without finishing his meal he pushed back his chair and made to leave. She wanted to stop him. She didn’t. She watched wordlessly as he strapped his pistol back to his thigh, grabbed his hat, coat, and bag before before he made to walk past her and out the door. However, as he reached her side where she sat he paused a moment before gently laying a hand on her shoulder. Melinda pulled in a shuddering breath as he did, but made no move to brush him away.

When he spoke, his voice was low and gentle. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said, and I’m sorry for coming here. But please … believe me when I say that I wouldn’t have even tried if I didn’t think wasn’t something here worth trying for.” Melinda knew he could feel her shaking as she reached her hand up to twine it in his, his voice catching as he added, “I need you, Melinda.” And then he bent down, gently placing a soft kiss against her crown before brokenly whispering, “I miss you.”

And then like a shadow he was out the door and gone.

 

* * *

 

 

It was going to be a long ride back to Bakertown and Phil knew that it would be well after sunset before he saw his own bed. Good. That gave plenty of time to think of all the ways that he was an idiot.

He couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been hoping against hope that somehow he’d be able to reach Melinda this time, to somehow get her back into the world again, fighting the good fight as they once did. He meant every word he’d said today, from the danger his town was in to how badly he needed her assistance … to how he missed her. Well, perhaps he’d understated that a little bit.

The sun was getting low and the plains were now awash with a deep golden-red light, a quiet calm soothing his jagged soul as his mind continued to run rings around the memory of one particular woman. This combination served to lull him into a kind of stupor that was so deep that when the sudden sound of horses hooves galloping from behind him he was almost too slow on the draw.

Which she noticed.

“Really?” chided Melinda as she brought her horse to a stop beside him. “Are you getting slow in your old age?”

“Maybe a little,” answered Phil, unable to keep the grin off his face and when Melinda actually managed to answer that grin with a small smile of her own he thought his heart would burst. “So what changed your mind? You here for the cause … or just watching my back?”

She shrugged. “Same thing.” Then her smiled faded into a serious look as she added, “And I missed you, too.”

Wordlessly Phil reached out his hand towards her and this time she took it. He quickly brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers as a way of thanks, of welcome, of respect, of love.

“I suppose we’d best make our way back to town,” said Melinda as their fingers slipped away from one anothers. “I hear roads are pretty bad round these parts.”

“Yeah,” nodded Phil. “The sherif’s been damned useless, if you ask me.”

Together the road off into the sunset.

 

 

 


	3. Rival Spies

**Rival Spies/Man from U.N.C.L.E. AU**

 

The assignment was supposed to be a relatively simple one, but if life were simple then men like him wouldn’t exist. Agent Coulson thrived on complicated, loving the unexpected and seemingly unsolvable situations that arose in his line of work, a chess master who was always five moves ahead of his opponent. He was an opportunist with a firm Machiavellian streak, and if he were stuck in a job that wasn’t precisely of his own choice then he would be doing his very best to make the most of a unfortunate situation. It was 1963, global tensions were skyrocketing and in the midst of a near hysterical superpowered scramble for control men like him could make a very comfortable living. Of course, if asked, he would swiftly and coolly chalk up his enthusiasm for his secretive, underhanded and frankly nasty occupation to some sort of vague nationalistic pride, the joy of serving his great nation and so-on and so-on, never mind the prison sentence that the government was still hanging over his head. But that too, was fine. His superiors never cared much about what he did on the sly, so long as his day job was handled with the upmost professionalism.

Coulson had almost been insulted with the simplicity of his most recent assignment — acquire an asset, a young woman, bring her over to their side before anyone else got to her first — but he’d quickly reasoned that even an organisation as stuffy and bureaucratic as the CIA wouldn’t waste his talents on something so mediocre and a quick look over her file had proved that. Daisy Johnson herself wasn’t overly interesting, but seeing as how she was the daughter of both a fanatical freedom fighter and a genuine mad scientist Coulson could understand how the CIA’s interest might be piqued. That’s why he found himself wending through the dark and crowded streets on a stiflingly hot Singaporean night, making his way to the auto-shop where the enigmatic Miss Johnson was last reported to be not only employed at, but also living above. The streets were awash with activity despite the late hour and the fact that it was well on the outskirts of the city, where everyone seemed to be on a mission of their own of some sort, conversations escalating to shouts to be hear over the din where every now and then a deep train whistle from a nearby track could be heard, catches of music coming from battered radios, shouts from people selling all sorts of mechanise, the tangy aroma of something delicious wafting through the thick air mixing with the stink of cigarettes … a person might think that anyone could hide amongst this organised chaos. Coulson almost smiled to himself. Almost anyone could, but not from him. A still spot in a sea of movement can catch the eye as well as a spotlight and without even looking he knew exactly where she was. She was watching him closely and he knew that she’d been following him for some time now, though he hadn’t tried to loose her and hadn’t given any indication that he knew she was there. It seemed as if she was underestimating him. Again. Round two with this particular agent was definitely a complication, but he did so love a complication. Particularly when they were as pretty as her.

Still, that now meant that time had become a fast disappearing luxury and as he ducked into the auto shop he quickly waved a substantial amount of money about to clear the room of any other workers. Not his usual method, but very effective. As he made his way towards the back room he noticed two dirty overalled-clad legs sticking out from a underneath a car that looked as if it’d been gutted like a fish.

“Your Chinese sucks, by the way.” The voice that came from under the car was shortly followed by the rest of the woman who rolled out and fixed Coulson with an unimpressed stare, the dirt and oil streaking her face unable to hide her natural beauty. “But you’re American, so …” She let that trail off with a shrug before getting up off the ground and making her way to the workbench.

Coulson wasn’t perturbed in the least. “Daisy Johnson?” he asked. He felt it was only polite even if he already recognised her from her file, and she nodded. “Well, you shouldn’t be so harsh as you’re also American … or at least half of you is.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re acting like you know me, but I’ve never met you before.”

“Phil Coulson,” he said smoothly, holding out a hand that was glanced at and then ignored. “And you might not believe this right now, but you’re in a great deal of luck.”

That managed to get a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Oh, am I now?”

“Yes. Because I walked in here before she did.”

“Oooh,” Daisy gave a dramatic shiver. “And who is she?”

Coulson nodded towards the window and Daisy walked over to peer out. There she was, his still point, just on the edges of the bustling crowd leaning ever so casually against a streetlight as she watched the auto shop like a hawk. “That there is Agent Melinda May, who works for the Chinese government.” At this Daisy swiftly pulled away from the window and for the first time an inkling of fear entered her eyes. “I see you understand what that means for you, considering who your parents are.”

“I haven’t seen my parents in nearly twenty years,” she said.

“But they have been busy, the two of them,” he replied. “Your mother’s waging her own little war where she’s become tangled up with some even more unsavoury characters, while your father’s research in biochemical stimulants has attracted quite a bit of interest from a lot of different parties.”

“So? That has nothing to do with me.” Daisy folded her arms, but Coulson could see the action was more an act of comfort than defiance. “I have no idea where they are, or how to even begin to look for them.”

“And I believe you,” said Coulson calmly. “But I also believe that you know someone who does know where your parents are. Your former foster father, Gordon. Look,” he quickly stepped away from Daisy, feeling time slip away as he pulled out and studied a tourist map, his previously planned his extraction route now useless as he started to reassess the situation. “If we had twenty minutes we’d make a cup of tea, I’d talk, you’d laugh and we’d be on our merry to a cozy little safe house on the other side of the city, but seeing as how this is _not_ an option all you need to know right now is this —” As he spoke he quickly flipped the map over to check the train timetable, checked his watch, made a few quick calculations. “ — the people I work for are are willing to get you out of here and keep you safe. The people Agent May works for want to string you up as an accessory to your mother’s crimes, all in time to catch tomorrows morning headlines. So?”

A small part of Coulson’s mind that still remembered things such as morals chided him for basically scaring the young woman into following him, even though he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Given that they needed to move fast a sugar coated enticement was simply not an option anymore, and as they darted through the narrow, crowed streets that were slowly becoming less and less populated Coulson could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as his natural warning instincts let him know that she was close. A quick glance behind him revealed that now the crowd was thinner Agent May had given up any pretence of hiding and was slightly over-matching their pace to drew nearer and nearer.

Knowing his time was up and he now had a very small window to implement his plan, Coulson grabbed Daisy by the wrist and quickly pulled her into a narrow alley. “Do everything I say and you’ll see the sun rise tomorrow,” he said calmly. “When you get to the end of this alley turn right and keep heading straight.”

“I’ll hit the freight train lines if I do that,” said Daisy. Even scared and shaking she still managed to keep her nerve in this strange situation and Coulson had to admire her for that.

“I know,” he said. “If there’s a fence, jump over it, keep going straight. If there’s a security guard and you get arrested, don’t worry — American forces will have you out of jail before they can even get your name. Once you’re on the other side, follow these directions,” he quickly shoved the altered map in her hands, “And you’ll eventually come across Agent Mackenzie. He’ll know what to do.”

“And what about you?” she asked, absentmindedly wringing the map nervously.

“I’m just going to have a little chat with Agent May,” he said in a light tone that was completely offset by his somewhat wolfish grin.

“But what if there’s other agents from her side?”

“There won’t be.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know May,” he said, already fading into the shadows. “And I know she always works alone.”

 

* * *

 

If Agent May was surprised when Coulson swiftly stepped in front of her she didn’t show it. But then again, Coulson very much doubted that she ever showed any emotion if she could help it. Cold, calculating and burdened with the need to prove herself made her an excellent career spy, and he somehow had this sneaking feeling that his own frivolous disregard of the job annoyed her to no end.

He did know for a fact that he _personally_ annoyed her because of their shared past and very much planned to capitalise on that, so with a open armed gesture and a falsely warm smile he greeted her with a cheery, “Heidi, _darling_! It’s been too long!”

May’s emotionless mask cracked for just an instant to show her utter disgust for him, and he considered that a win. “Coulson. Where is she?”

Coulson feigned disappointment. “Really? This is how you want our reunion to go? We meet serendipitously in San Fransisco, spend a glorious week together, then nothing for two years! Ah,” he placed a hand on his chest in a wounded manner. “Darling, you broke my heart.”

“That’s not all of yours I’m going to break,” she answered through gritted teeth.

His grin was sharp. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset? Clearly someone managed to fish you out of the bay … eventually.”

Her look was sour as she took a step forward, making him quickly step back. She paused as she noted this, a small, wicked smile curving her lips. “Am I making you nervous? I’m not surprised. I always thought that _Charles’_ nerves around the opposite sex was just a little too convincing to really be an act. Tell me, are all American apes fumbling morons when it comes to foreplay, or is that just your own speciality?”

“Ouch,” answered Coulson sarcastically, but his smile became fixed and sickly.

“Oh, so it _is_ just you?” she said, eyes wide. “Well, as delightful as this has been, I have an asset to bring in.” And without preamble the strode forward, basically daring Coulson to stop her.

Wordlessly, he reached out a hand and closed his around her upper arm, pulling her close. For an instant their faces were an inch apart and he could feel the heat of her skin, her sweet breath against his cheek, the tickle of her hair.

Her arm like iron beneath his grasp.

“Oh,” she drew out the words slowly. “ _Big_ mistake.”

Now this was the part he had not been looking forward to. In a fight he knew May was the superior and the only way he’d been able to best her in San Francisco two years ago had been a combination of a timely warning from an asset and good old-fashioned dumb luck. He’d heard stories of agents coming up against each other while pressuring a common goal but had never thought such a thing could happen to him until he was already in the middle of it, and while he’d managed to salvage his mission (and his reputation) by the skin of his teeth, Melinda May represented the only hint of failure that he’d ever had to deal with.

Unfortunately that same mission represented May’s _actual_ failure, something he knew she held against him. He had a feeling that she was the type of person who savoured a grudge and had not been keen on a rematch with her any time soon. But desires rarely match up with the real world and here he was now, about to get his ass kicked in the back streets of Singapore by the finest Chinese agent there was. This was not going to be fun.

Her first blow sent him stumbling back and the second nearly knocked him down. He did his best to block her hits and even tried valiantly to get a few knocks in himself, all the while reminding himself that this wasn’t the point of their confrontation. As they fought he continued to stumble backwards, hitting the ground, rolling, protecting himself as best as he could without giving away the fact that the fight wasn’t actually what he had planned to do. All the while he was listening for the telltale sound of a train whistle.

Before either of them really knew it they’d reached the train tracks and Coulson was beginning to become genuinely worn down from the fight. May, on the other hand, didn’t even look like she’d broken into a sweat and as she threw him down once more, his breath getting knocked out of him as he hit the metal train lines hard, she stood above him and smiled in quiet triumph.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” she grinned, panting.

“I’m guessing a bit over two years?” Coulson shot back.

“Little longer,” she said. “Ever since they showed me your photo and told me to seduce you.”

“Oh, come on! Now you’re just being mean!” Underneath his back, Coulson could feel the metal tracks start to vibrate.

“I guess it sucks for you when women actually speak their mind and don’t —”

Sure, it was underhanded, but he was desperate. A sudden, swift kick to her abdomen with a strength that he’d been hiding the entire fight left May winded and wide-eyed with shock. In the split second as she was thrown off balance Coulson leapt to his feet and knocked her to the ground, deftly pulling out a pair of handcuffs which he used to secured one of May’s wrists to the train line before she even knew what was going on. The next instant he backed away and out of her reach, just as she swiped at him and let loose a yell of rage — just as the oncoming train let loose a shrill whistle. May’s eyes snapped towards the train, then to her wrist, then back to Coulson. He’d never seen such naked hate in someone’s face before.

He shrugged in an apologetic manner as he backed away. “Sorry, May. As delightful as this catch-up has been, I actually have a younger woman waiting for me, so …” He threw the handcuffs keys at her and she was lucky that her quick reactions allowed her to catch them, but as soon as she did Coulson turned tail and ran. There was another blaring whistle from the train that sounded almost like a warning and then a thundering noise as it whooshed on past. Coulson didn’t look back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So your plan was to let her beat the shit out of you, then leave her tied to some track tracks?” Coulson’s handler, Jeffery Mace, seemed less than impressed by the entire thing.

Coulson just shrugged. Seeing as how he never cared nor expected Mace’s approval before, he didn’t see why he should start now. “I’ll admit, it wasn’t a perfect plan, but it worked. We got Daisy, got some good leads on her parents, nobody died.” He paused. “We don’t think. What more do you need?”

“How about a little subtlety?” said Mace.

Coulson tried not to roll his eyes. The two of them were sitting in a suspiciously empty cafe and Coulson had just noticed that the pleasant young lady who’d served them coffee had just disappeared. Something very cloak-and-dagger was happening right now and while Coulson had learned that with Mace, it was simply better to just go with the flow, he still resented being kept in the dark.

Mace drew in a deep breath before blowing on his coffee and taking and tentative sip. “Now, Coulson, what’s about to happen next might be a bit of a bitter pill to swallow, but you need to remember whose interests you’re really serving.”

“What does that —?” But the next words he was about to say got caught in his throat. Because just over Mace’s shoulder he saw Agent May had enter the room and while she seemed just as shocked to see him in the first instant, in the next she was nothing but pure rage.

He had just enough time for one thought to go through his head: _This woman is going to kill me._

This fight was completely unlike their fight from last night. This time May held nothing back and within a minute she had him in a choke hold and was quickly and efficiently squeezing the life out of him. As darkness started to crowd around the edges of his vision he could see Mace still calmly sipping his coffee only to pause, look up, and respectfully nod to someone in greeting. A new voice drifted past, a woman’s speaking Chinese, and after a few more agonising seconds Coulson felt May loosen her grip and then roughly push him away.

Coughing and panting, it took a few tries before he was able to speak. “What does that mean?”

Mace nodded towards the newcomer, an elderly Chinese woman who nevertheless radiated a certain kind of danger. “She said; ‘Don’t kill your partner on the first day.’”

This time Coulson did roll his eyes. “I know what she _said_. What did she _mean_?”

A quick look at May showed that she was equally dumbfounded and somewhat horrified by this statement.

 _Good_ , thought Coulson, he throat already bruising. _Looks like we’re finally on the same page about something._

 

 

 


	4. Zombie Apocalypse

 

 

**Zombie Apocalypse AU**

 

 

Any emergency room in the world is usually a whirlpool of controlled chaos at the best of times, but there was a new tension in the air that day that even Dr May couldn’t fail to notice. A week ago she would’ve chalked up the sudden rush of patients to just another side effect of a hysterical public who were being constantly fed misinformation about the latest super-flu, or gastric outbreak, or poisoned water supply or _whatever_ story was currently being churned out, reblogged, re-tweeted, shared and altered and shared again. It was a headache to deal with, but not an unfamiliar one. By the time someone arrived at the hospital they had already half convinced themselves that they were already at death’s door and while a quick check usually proved that the patient had nothing to worry about, convincing said patient of this generally took a lot longer.

That’s what she would’ve thought a week ago. But in the last five days there had been a steady admission of patients who were not your run-of-the-mill hypochondriacs, all complaining of the same ailment — something that presented like a fever but was resistant to all conventional forms of treatment. What had started as a trickled five days ago had now already become a flood that the staff at St Mary’s General could barely hold back, with every available bed taken, patients laying out in the hallways, doctors and nurses raw and stretched to breaking point. As Dr May returned from a quick thirty minute break to start her 20th hour of work she knew it was only a matter of hours before the hospital were completely overwhelmed.

Chugging down some tepid coffee in the desperate hope that it would give her a boost, she quickly found an equally worn Dr Simmons who was trying to do the paperwork for another yet admission while leaning against a wall, seeing as how the front desk was already piled with waiting forms. When she saw Dr May approach she could barely manage even the most superficial pleasantries.

“Get enough rest?” she asked.

“Sure. Best ten minutes of my life,” answered May between sips. “Did I miss anything?”

Simmons dropped her paperwork to her side and fixed May with a you’re-not-going-to-believe-this look. “City Central just called us, asking for staff and beds.”

May felt her jaw drop. “You’ve got to be joking. Don’t they know what’s happening here?”

“Do _we_ know what’s happening here?” asked Simmons, exhaustion heightening the worry in her voice. “Fury just came through and he said he’s not the only chief who’s been ignored by the CDC. This is a _pandemic_.” She lowered her voice slightly on the word and looked around fearfully. “But there’s been no news broadcast, no warnings, nothing! We get jerked around like puppets on strings at the slightest new sniffle, but somehow _this_ isn’t worth their time?”

May didn’t have the heart or the energy to tell Simmons that these thoughts had been running through her head since day two. It didn’t matter. She was scared, she was tired and she was right, and May tried her best to comfort the younger doctor. “Look, the best thing we can do right now is focus on our patients. I have a feeling things are going to get much more difficult before they get better and we need to be here for that.” She tapped the side of her head for emphasis. “ _All_ here, understand? They’re bound to send in relief soon, maybe even from another city, but we need to keep things going until then. Got it?”

Simmons nodded tightly, but didn’t look fully convinced, and in the next moment her gaze shifted from May’s face towards the entrance. “Oh God, here comes another one.”

May turned and saw five new people stumble into the ER, an older man leaning heavily on a young, plaid wearing lad, along with a police officer who was half dragging, half supporting a dark-haired man whose hands were cuffed behind his back. They were all led by a young woman who bashed though the doors like she had a personal grudge with them, did a small double take at how busy the room was, then, in a strangely authoritarian voice yelled above the din: “I need a doctor _now_! He’s been shot!”

“I never thought I’d say this,” muttered May to Simmons, “But … yay. Gunshot. Something different.”

She quickly made her way to the group and saw that it was the older man who was the victim. His left shoulder was a bloody mess even though someone had clearly tried to steam the flow of blood with a t-shirt. He was clearly in a lot of pain as he peered at her though thick rimmed glasses, but said nothing as she quickly looked him over. It soon became clear that he didn’t have to say anything as the young woman started talking instantly.

“Look, you gotta help him, okay?” she said, with a fierceness that did nothing to warm May to her. “And don’t say ‘no’ and don’t say ‘go to another hospital’ because there aren’t any!”

“Miss —”

“We have been moved on from _three_ emergency rooms!” Now May knew the source of her desperation. “You cannot kick us out of here, please!”

“Calm down, miss,” said May in a flat, almost bored tone as she studied the man’s wound. It was relatively clean, in and out, and had missed any major arteries and bones. Painful, sure, but not life-threatening. If the other hospitals were as stretched as they were she could understand them kicking him and his little entourage to the curb and in truth, if he had come here a few hours ago she would’ve given him a painkiller and told him to go home. But as she looked at his shockingly pale face and the way he was only on his feet because of the young man helping him she knew that blood loss, shock and trauma had nearly overwhelmed him. She sighed, then shouted over to one of the nearby nurses. “Mack! Is room five clear?”

“Just,” he answered back, helping a sickly woman walk unsteadily out of said room — it was clear that the woman was only walking because there were no more wheelchairs.

“Alright.” She paused and looked over the mixed group. “I guess you’re all coming? Are you family?”

The young woman pointed at herself. “I’m his neighbour, Daisy.” She pointed at the younger man. “He’s my flatmate, Fitz.” She then flipped off the man in the cuffs. “And that there’s my nazi ex-boyfriend who shot him.”

“And I’m the cop who happened to be driving by,” supplied the officer, whose badge said ‘Triplett’. “Now, usually this is where I’d be leaving you, but the perp here seems to have the same flu that’s been getting everybody else.”

May felt her heart drop as she noted that the cuffed man was unsteady on his feet, pale, and sweating profusely — all signs of the mystery illness that was inundating them — but there was something about how these symptoms were presenting in him that seemed more extreme, more advanced. However, even through his sickness he managed to sneer, “I keep telling you, it’s not the flu!” He turned his sickly, unfocused gaze to May. “Doc … doc … surely _you_ know by now. This isn’t some random bug that’s been going around, is it? This —”

Whatever he was about to say next was lost as the older man groaned and pitched forward, finally reaching the end of his endurance. May instinctively reached out to grab him and she felt his head drop onto her shoulder. “Okay, we gotta move,” she said, talking to Fitz, and between them they managed to get the patient into room five, Daisy hovering nervously around them the whole time. Once they had him on the bed May turned to the officer and pointed to the ‘nazi ex-boyfriend’. “Take him down the hallway and try to find somewhere to put him until someone can get to you. Sit on the floor if you have to.”

“Damn,” said officer Triplett. “It’s pretty crazy around here, isn’t it?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” muttered May as he closed the door behind him. As she began to cut the fabric away from the wound the man still said nothing, merely closed his eyes and turned his head away from where she was working. May was somewhat surprised when Daisy came forward and very carefully took the glasses off his face, folded them up and put them in her pocket, her fierce determination now replaced with fear and tenderness. The man smiled up at her and held out his hand, which she took. May glanced at Fitz and saw him biting on his thumbnail, staring at her patient as if blinking might make him disappear. They didn’t seem to be just neighbours.

“I’m going to numb the area, clean it out, but I want to get some x-rays before I stitch it up, just to make sure we haven’t missed anything, okay?” she said. All she received was silent nodding. After a few more minutes of working she spoke again, though she didn’t know why. She usually liked quiet patients, but something about this group piqued her interest. “So, we’ve got Daisy the neighbour and Fitz the flatmate, but I didn’t get your name?”

The man rolled his head back towards her, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. “I guess that makes me Phil, the useless good samaritan,” he quipped, smiling through the pain. She couldn’t help but smile back.

Daisy, however, didn’t seem to like that at all. “Don’t say that, Phil! If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be tied up in the back of Ward’s trunk right now!”

“And I’d be dead,” muttered Fitz darkly.

“Ward?” asked May. “That’s your nazi ex-boyfriend?” She paused, trying to keep her next question casual despite an icy drop of fear settling at the bottom of her stomach. “What was all that he was saying earlier?”

Daisy folded one arm tightly across her middle as she held onto Phil’s hand. “He was never very good with the word ‘no’, but this last week he’s gone from regular scary to straight up conspiracy, drink the Kool-Aid, end of days scary. He kept telling me he was trying to _protect_ me, that we needed to leave the city, something about the government keeping the truth from us. And just this evening he turned up at our place, with a gun.” She paused and shivered. “No, with a whole _backseat_ full of guns and he tells me I’m coming with him no matter what. And that actually I’d _thank_ him later.”

May felt a familiar sympathy come over her; as an ER doctor stories of domestic abuse were painfully common. However, there was something about this particular case worried her more than most, though she’d be the last one to say _hey, the stalker ex might have a point when it comes to this mysterious flu_. What she did say was, “So how did _you_ get shot?”

Phil sighed. “By being an idiot. I was coming in from work and just happened to walk into the whole thing. He pointing a gun at the two of them, telling Fitz to get on his knees, to turn away —”

“He said it was the kindest option,” muttered Fitz, as though he still couldn’t believe those words.

“— and I thought that with the element of surprise …” he trailed off and gave May a self deprecating smile. “And then I got shot.”

May paused in her work and leaned back to truly look at Phil for the first time. He seemed an utterly ordinary person and she knew that if they passed on the street she wouldn’t have given him a second glance, but beneath that was someone who was ready to literally take a bullet for his friends. Once again, as an ER doctor she’d seen a lot but this, not so much. “That was an incredibly brave thing you did, Phil,” she said softly, and even though it seemed that his natural instinct would be to brush this compliment aside, her sincerity touched him and left him unable to form a witty reply. After a few uncertain moments he simply smiled again and she again returned it. She found herself really beginning to like those smiles.

Just at that moment May’s cell phone buzzed loudly, causing everyone in the room to jump. May stripped off her gloves, pulled it out and was surprised enough by the caller ID to give a quick instruction to her patient not to move or leave the room before she hurried out to answer it.

“Andrew?”

“Melinda?” Andrew sounded tense, breathless. There was a mix of noise between May’s busy ER room and Andrew’s location that made it difficult to hear and May pressed her phone hard against her ear as she pushed her way through the crowded room, eventually ending up just outside the entry where it was much quieter, the cool nights breeze failing to sooth her nerves in any way. Doctor Andrew Garner was the chief doctor over at Central and the fact that he was calling May on a personal line during this developing crises sent alarm bells ringing in May’s head. Because he wasn’t just a colleague or a friend. He was her ex-husband who she hadn’t spoken to in over a year.

“What’s going on?” asked May. “If you’ve had a development shouldn’t you be talking to Fury or —?”

“I can’t reach Fury and we don’t have time for that,” said Andrew quickly. _Can’t reach Fury? But Simmons said she saw him half an hour ago?_ Before May could form this thought into speech Andrew barrelled on. “Listen, May, you need to get out, right now. Leave St Mary’s, get out of the city if you can and if you can’t, barricade yourself somewhere with supplies but whatever you do, _do not stay at the hospital!_ ”

“Andrew, you’re scaring me.” May could feel her hands start to shake. “Is this something to do with flu?”

“It’s not the flu.” In the background on Andrew’s line May heard something that sound suspiciously like a group of men shouting and Andrew suddenly dropped his voice down to a strained whisper. “Whatever this sickness is, we are not prepared for it. No-one is. Twenty minutes ago the military put us under what they said was a quarantine, but what it really is, is an extermination. They’re killing everyone, infected and not. They’re just … killing everyone!”

“What?” Just as she said that, May saw a large, armoured car turn the corner at the far end of the street, slowly trundling towards the hospital. It was followed by another. And another. A sick sense of foreboding filled her as she first stumbled, then ran back into the ER.

A burst of gunfire on Andrew’s end drew her up short, horrified. “Andrew?”

There was an agonising pause and then, “I’m still here, but I don’t know —” Muffled scratchings and yells, and then he was back. This time, he was eerily calm. “Melinda. Anyone whose been infected is a lost cause — you need to leave them behind. Because even though the fever will kill them in the end, they won’t stay dead. They just won’t stay dead.”

“What are you talking about?” cried May.

“Don’t get bit. Get out of the hospital. Get out of the city. Melinda … run!”

There was a shout of discovery, a round of gunfire … and then the line went dead.

For a few seconds May stood frozen, phone still pressed against her ear, before a shout drew her attention to the far end of the hall where a group of people seemed to be congregating. Moving as if in a dream May slowly made her way to the source of the problem and was stunned to see Simmons and Triplett standing next to Ward who was laying in a twisted mess on the ground, hands still cuffed behind his back, mouth gaping, eyes wide and blank, his entire being very, very still. On instinct May dropped and checked for a pulse although she already knew this was a futile act.

“When did this happen?” asked May, her voice strangely distant.

“Just now,” said Simmons, sounding flabbergasted. “He was fine, he was talking and then he just …”

“Keeled over and died,” said Triplett, his flippant attitude an obvious mask for his fear.

“May …” Simmons grabbed her arm to pull her up and whisper, “Look at him. He’s in rigour. He looks like he’s been dead hours rather than minutes.”

“I know,” said May. She was still gripping her phone, holding it so tightly she thought she might snap it. “I know, I …”

There was a bang from outside loud enough to make everyone jump. Alarmed shouting could just be heard coming from a distance. Then suddenly a woman let loose a scream right beside May and the entire crowd moved as one away from Ward’s body.

The body that had started to move again.

“What the hell?” gasped Simmons, whose curious doctor’s instincts temporarily overruled her common sense as she stepped forward to closer examine the now twitching, gurgling body.

“No!” cried May, grabbing Simmons by the arm and yanking her back just as Ward snapped at her, teeth flashing mere inches from Simmons’ hand.

_Don’t get bit. Get out of the hospital. Get out of the city. Melinda … run!_

Suddenly the world snapped back into focus and May was overcome with the very real dread that her life was now in serious danger. Andrew was the most level-headed person she knew and if he was telling her to run … she turned and started to walk briskly down the hall, her hold now iron tight around Simmons’ arm as she dragged her along before she really knew what she was doing. At May’s sudden departure the rest of the crowd disrupted in a flurry of movement, people started to yell in panic, right at the same time another loud bang and a series of screams sounded from outside.

A door swung open in front of her and she was suddenly pulled back into room five, confronted by Daisy. “Hey! What the hell is going on out here?”

“I’d like to know that, too.” It was only then that she realised Triplett had been following her and Simmons.

May saw Phil struggling to sit up, a paper cover already patched with blood, staring at her calmly, confidently. She made her decision in an instant. “People are coming to kill us all. We’re getting out of here. Grab some supplies and follow me, ask questions later.”

Daisy looked terrified. “Wait — what —?”

“She said later!” snapped Phil, already swinging his legs off the bed and grasping onto Fitz for support while May grabbed a small kit and jamming some extra supplies into it. Outside the mixed yelling had dissolved into panicked screams and once they were back in the hallway the whole area was a mess of bodies pushing and shoving while at the far end, near the entrance, May could just make out heavily armed soldiers line people up against the wall — and shoot them.

“What the shit!” shouted Triplett, hand already on his pistol, but May grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him along behind her.

“We can’t do anything for them.” Just as she said that she passed Mack, who was standing in the middle of the hallway, fresh blood on the front of his scrubs, looking shell-shocked. He was quickly caught up in their escaping party.

Whether it was luck, May, Mack and Simmons knowledge of the hospital, or a little of both, they managed to get out and onto the street within minutes, way before the military had time to set up a perimeter around the hospital. However, if they were hoping to find safety in the streets they were deeply mistaken.

If May thought the hospital had been chaos, she had no idea what the world had descended into outside. Store fronts were smashed in, there were multiple fires raging, and all around she could hear screams and gunshots. People were running past them in a blur … and some people in the far distance were moving slowly, much too slowly.

“What now?” asked Simmons, deathly pale. “He’s not going to be able to go much further.”

May turned and saw Simmons pointing to Phil, and saw that she was right. Both Triplett and Fitz were now holding him up and he looked dangerously close to passing out.

Suddenly a large pick-up tore around the corner and barrelled towards them at a breakneck speed and while May felt her stomach drop out she was stunned to see a wide smile break across Simmons’ face as she bounced up and down, waving at the driver, and screamed, “ _Bobbi_!”

The pick-up stopped in a screech of burnt rubber and a blonde woman stuck her head out the window. Bobbi Morse, Simmons’ childhood friend and current flatmate. “Jemma! I can’t believe you made it out! When I heard about Central I came down here to get you as quick as I could — ran down a few check points, too.” At that she flashed a wicked grin and May could almost ignore her trembling hands on the steering wheel. “Well? Get in … bunch of people I don’t know. We gotta go!”

“I love you,” declared Daisy before the seven of them poured into the tray and Bobbi took off at a speed that would’ve frightened May in any other situation, but now just gave her a sense of great relief.

As the wind tangled her hair about she crawled over to where Phil was being cradled by Daisy, eyes closed, and carefully pulled back the paper to look at his wound. When he realised what was happening he opened one eye a fraction.

“Really? You’re going to focus on this?”

“Well, I’m still a doctor, and you’re still my patient until I say so,” said May, trying her best to sort through her medical kit in near total darkness. She flinched, all of them did, when a massive explosion thundered from behind them. From where the hospital was.

May felt a sudden warmth on her arm and looked down to see Phil’s hand on her wrist. “I feel like there’s a story behind how you knew to get out but … thank you. Thank you so much. And, if you don’t mind … what’s your name?”

The pick-up rattled mercilessly while the sounds of gunfire and scream rent the air, all tinged with the sharp scent of smoke. But for some reason, just around Phil, everything was calm.

She moved her arm so his hand slide off her wrist and into her own hand, fingers tightening. “I’m Melinda. Nice to meet you.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, honestly? This is probably less philinda and more the AoS zombie apocalypse I've been wanting for a while now. Marvel Zombies, anyone? Still, hoped you liked it. :)


	5. Medieval Fanatsy

 

 

 

Silence hung softly in the night air as Melinda made her way deftly though the unlit halls of her castle, a thick fur lined coat that draped down from her slim shoulders to skim across the floor hiding the fact that she merely had her nightgown on underneath and nothing else. It was well into the early hours of the morning and she had ultimately given up on the idea of getting even a few hours of sleep, even though she was finally back in her own bed for the first time in a little over two weeks. Her own soft, comfortable, overly large, cold and empty bed. The familiar sights and smells of home had done nothing to sooth her ragged nerves to slumber and eventually she knew that  the only way she was going to rest tonight was if she saw him, talked to him, if only for a moment.

The only light she encountered was when she passed through the dark kitchens and out one of the more secluded side doors that was under the watch of two young and somewhat bored guards in the middle of a card game, both of whom jumped to attention when they saw their queen.

“Majesty,” nodded one, a swordswoman by the name of Piper, who always seemed a little out of step whenever she encountered Melinda. Nevertheless she knew to keep her voice low as not to disturb the quiet night around them as she asked the question she already knew the answer to. “Will you be requiring an escort?”

“No,” murmured Melinda, shaking her head and pulling her cloak a little tighter as the outside air bit at her face before she passed by with barely a whisper, the two guards only returning to their game when she turned the corner and out of sight. All of the Queens Guards knew that she was prone to these sort of nocturnal wanderings, and even though they had become less frequent in the passing years in times of great stress she was known to repeat them. It had become a rule among the guards that they would never speak of it to anyone; not even the Queens closest advisors knew of these midnight journeys.

Clouds had sat fat and foreboding above them for most of their journey homeward and just this evening a light dusting of snow had started to flicker downwards, leaving a thin, white coating upon every surface that now glowed in the moonlight, whenever a break in the clouds permitted. Melinda knew Trillieon like she knew her own heart and saw that this was just the beginning of a what was going to be a long, dark winter, which she very much favoured. The roads into her domain that were perilous to pass would now become impossible, and they would be all but cut off from the outside world as well as whatever evil now ran free across those lands for at least four months. She felt a bitter twist in her stomach that translated to her face. Had she known the weather would’ve protected her domain, even for a short time, she would never have agreed to meeting with King Fury. Or to whatever terms he had thrust upon her.

Moving like a shadow Melinda quickly ducked from a connecting passage way to a courtyard that while glorious in summer was now nothing more than a winter-dead garden, all harsh angles of stripped trees and empty flowerbeds. From the courtyard she followed another passage to a more secluded, private garden. A heavy iron door, long out of use but still well maintained, swung forward with barely a whisper as she finally reached her destination.

Melinda paused for a moment as the silence around her seemed to gain a sort of weight that pressed upon her from all sides and her heart thumped hard and sorrowful against her ribs. And then, as she drew an icy breath to settle her, the moment passed. And she was simply where she needed to be.

Kneeling by the grave she gently brushed some fallen leaves off the tombstone and quietly whispered, “Hello, my love.”

Eleven years ago, after years of doubt and wondering, Queen Melinda had fallen in love. And no-one was more surprised than her. After the shock death of her parents and her ascension to the throne at such a young age she had thought of herself as married to her domain, her people and her nation taking precedence over anything else, including whatever trivial pleasures she might wish to pursue for herself.

And then she had met Andrew.

He was wise, handsome, brave and kind, and he ignited feelings within her that she’d only ever encountered in her youth. Within three months they were wed, and the ensuing celebrations had swept across her domain for weeks afterwards. And for five years they were extremely happy.

Then six years ago, he was killed. A skirmish on the southern boarders. They never found the culprits.

Melinda had felt as though she might never cry again, so many tears being spent at learning of her loss, and so far this had proven to be true. Her people saw her as kind, but cold, strong yet immensely sad. They loved her, yet in their heart of hearts, they pitied her.

“I have so much to tell you,” she continued, her voice soft in this sacred space. The moon had  completely disappeared now but the darkness failed to troubled her. While never an overly superstitious woman she did sometimes feel as though she truly was closer to Andrews’ soul when she came down here by herself, though she couldn’t admit this to anyone. She swallowed as her voice shook slightly over the next words, words she didn’t want to say. In her mind’s eye she saw Andrew smiling down at her, giving her the strength she needed. “I … I was wed over a week ago.”

Wed, standing in a cold, dingy tent, surrounded by foreign lords and apathetic soldiers who hardly knew of nor cared for Trillieon, officiated by a short, round man called Koenig who was barely able to string the words of the Trillieon marriage rights together. Lady Simmons had stood by her side, stoic and tight-lipped, and Melinda knew it was only by sheer force of will that she wasn’t crying in despair. Though she had made her own feelings on the subject well known the night before.

 _“This is a disgrace!” she had snarled, practically throwing the marriage contract away from her in disgust. “I know you’ve agreed to this but … your majesty … you can_ not _agree to this!”_

_Even through everything this passionate young woman still managed to bring a wry smile to Melinda’s face. “Have you found a problem with the contract?” she’d asked mildly._

_“He’s a_ lord _!” Simmons had exclaimed, as if that were all the fault she needed to find. She begun to pace in agitation. “And not even of blood! He was nothing more than a common mercenary before Fury decided, for some strange reason, to elevate him well beyond his statues with a title. What land he ever acquired, he gave away again and he has almost no finances to his name. Not even a bloody ring for an heirloom!” She’d paused, almost panting with indignant rage as her eyes shone bright. “You must see that he is so beneath you that even suggesting marriage is an insult.”_

_Melinda had calmly watched this entire tirade from where she was seated, marvelling at how very much Simmons was in some ways behaving just like her own mother had all those years ago, and wondering at the strangeness of the world that they should so rail against the same man. In her youth Melinda had been reckless and impulsive, and had actually abandoned her birthright when the weight of it had all become too much. She had been dragged back home after a month long adventure, dirty and worn and cowering beneath her parents joint fury at both her disappearance and the fact that she had been discovered in the company of a foreign commoner. She still recalled her mother’s indignant rage as she cried that it was an insult to her lineage to even think of associating with such rabble._

_It almost seemed as though Simmons was speaking for her mother’s own soul at that moment._

_Fitz had stood still and wide-eyed during her tirade, twisting his hands as if he desired nothing more than to take Simmons in his arms and sooth her, though would never dare to do such a thing in front of the Queen. When Simmons had finally stopped, Melinda had spoken. “In many ways I agree with you. If I had any say in this matter we would most certainly not be taking any excess baggage home with us.” At that Simmons managed a watery smile. “But we all know that this_ is _happening. It_ will _happen tomorrow and Trillieon will have its first foreign queen’s consort in two hundred years.” She’d risen, crossed the room to retrieve the contact from where Simmons had flung it and handed it back to her. “So I need you make sure that there will be no more unsavoury surprises in this contract. Other than the man himself.”_

_A few angry tears had managed to slip down Simmons face regardless. Finally she whispered, “It’s not fair to you, ma’am.”_

_Melinda had felt her heart swell as she saw her escort in actual pain for her, even though she herself had felt rather numb about the whole thing. Numb, resigned, and committed to her duty to her domain. She’d reached up and carefully brushed Simmons tears away. “Keep a brave heart, Jemma,” she’d said. “And I’ll keep mine.”_

That numbness had sustained her as she extended her hand and Lord Coulson had captured it, his own hand rough and calloused, firm and steady. She was surprised, however, when without hesitation he moved his grip to slide his hand down and curl his fingers around her wrist, his palm now underneath her arm while hers lay over his. The traditional bonding hold that was unique to a Trillieon marriage. For the first time since the ceremony began her eyes flickered to his, the unspoken question clear, and he’d just smiled ever so slightly.

Whether he had learnt this to comfort or support her she had no idea, but whatever the case it had the opposite of its desired effect. She felt as if a lead weight had dropped into the pit of her stomach as she fought the sudden panicked urge to wrench her arm out of his grasp, even though he held her with a gentleness she didn’t expect from a career soldier. She’d quickly snapped her eyes away from his, refusing to look at his face for the rest of the ceremony as her heart warred with her mind. A youthful meeting meant nothing years after the fact. This man was a stranger to her and her land, and he had no right to act out traditions he didn’t understand. She was certain that she was trembling although she made move to acknowledge that, barely acknowledged the man in front of her even as she dully repeated the pledges that bound her to him. The whole time images of her first wedding flashed through her mind … the warmth of the summers day, the beautifully decorated temple that was overflowing with flowers of all kinds, the constant low roar of the thousands of people just outside who had come from far and wide to finally see their queen wed, a roar that had risen to such a giddying cheer when they emerge, hands bound, that Melinda could still feel that cheer in her bones to this day, a cheer that set her laughing as she swung from her new husband’s arm … Andrews’ radiant smile …

She kept her gaze fixed somewhere above Coulson’s left shoulder, even as Koenig tied the bonding ribbon around their overlapped wrists perhaps a little tighter then she would’ve liked.

And then it was over. They were married. And within an hour her party had gathered everything together and set forth on the road home, a few of her guards leading, her and Simmons in a sturdy yet comfortable carriage behind them, her entourage following leaving Coulson and Daisy at the very end. Which had elicited no small amount of discussion amongst her people, seeing as how the Queen’s consort should ride in front of her carriage as part of the guard, yet when they had made it clear that the precession had no place for an Inhuman Coulson had chosen to ride at the back with Daisy. Simmons had nearly cracked a tooth she’d clenched her jaw so tight.

“I knew it,” she’d muttered. “Look at them … so brazen …  and only hours after the marriage … have they no decency?”

This however, didn’t bother Melinda in the least. She’d already assumed that the reason Coulson wanted Daisy with him was because the two of them were somehow involved. He said he wouldn’t interfere with her affairs, so it was just common curtesy that she should refrain from interfering with his. Besides, they weren’t married, not in the true sense of the word. This was nothing more than a complicated treaty.

Melinda pressed her hand against the cold earth beneath the tombstone, her palm nearly stinging at the icy contact. She smiled to herself and continued. “Never fear, this wedding was nothing in comparison to ours.” Her smile faded. “But I wish you were here. You always kept me level headed, always stopped me from making foolish mistakes or …” A wave of shame washed over her. “… behaving in an unjust manner.”

The journey homeward had been a tense affair that was not in any way helped by Melinda’s own cold, indifferent attitude towards the two new additions to their procession, an attitude that all her own people had seen fit to imitate. She was angry and upset, still reeling from a degrading marriage ceremony and worst of all, feeling in some strange way as if she were betraying the memory of her first husband — her true husband, as she now thought of him. All that hurt and pain had focused itself on the man who represented it and even though she knew it wasn’t fair, that he hadn’t directly caused it, she unleashed all her frustrations upon him. He had tried to tentatively approach her for the first couple of nights, first with Daisy and then alone, but each time she’d had Simmons or Fitz turn him back until he’d learnt to stay away. By the time they’d reached her home city of Moruya, late in the afternoon, both he and Daisy had been so utterly ostracised from the entire group that when she’d swept up the stairs without a backwards glance no-one had even seen fit to properly introduce them to the staff of her castle.

Desperate to regain some sense of normality, of control, Melinda had quickly shed her travelling gear for some more refined attire and had summoned her stewardess to attend her in the throne room with the intention of being brought back up the speed with the domains business that she’d missed. Her stewardess Lady Rodriguez, an incredible beauty who used that facade as a mask for her sharp wit and deadly intelligence, managed to arrive at the room just before Melinda and therefore awaited her with an arm full of documents and a faint expression of pity and distress that was becoming all too familiar to Melinda as her people slowly became informed of her marriage.

“Welcome home, your majesty,” said the Lady smoothly. “And should I offer congratulations — or condolences?”

“Neither,” said Melinda in an almost petulant manner. “It’s not a matter of importance.”

One fine eyebrow quirked at this. “With all due respect, you just got married. There’s a lot of protocol that needs to be addressed, not to mention the fact the he’s a foreigner that needs to be educated on the laws of our land if he is to assist you —”

“He will _not_ be assisting me,” snapped Melinda. Rodriguez blinked in surprise at her tone and  upon seeing this Melinda struggled to control her anger. Anger that had been festering unchecked within her for over two weeks now. After a moment she continued more evenly. “Forgive me, Elena. I have been rather … unsettled … of late.”

Rodriguez dismissed her apology with a elegant half-shrug. “I understand. But you must know that you’re not alone in this feeling. Ever since the herald arrived yesterday ahead of your procession with news of Trillieon’s new treaties and your _marriage_ , everyone’s been unsettled. I believe that integrating this Lord Coulson into our traditions and ways as quickly as possible, as well as the two of you showing a united front to the people, would go a long way to alleviating the concerns of many.” She paused a moment. “Particularly considering the Inhuman who has accompanied you.”

Melinda shook her head. “I don’t believe the Inhuman will be of any great consequence, to be honest.”

And just as she said that, a low yet powerful tremor rattled the castle to its very foundations.

Both women looked around, startled, as hangings shook on the walls and dust floated down from the ceiling. Rodriguez then fixed Melinda with a disbelieving stare that said more than words ever could.

The shaking lasted moments only, but the effects of it could be heard all across the castle with people yelling and running for cover from a force they barely understood, and as Melinda heard her people’s fear she felt her anger sharpen. As she turned to Rodriguez, an order to bring Coulson to her already forming on her lips, she heard a different kind of shouting coming from the hallway outside and soon enough the very man she would have summoned burst into her throne room without even a hint of reverence for the place, still in his travelling gear, his face fixed in anger.

Her Head of the House, Mackenzie, was close on his heels and looked more than a little rattled himself. “Majesty,” he said, breathless. “They —”

“What is the meaning of this?” demand Melinda, unaffected by Coulson’s furious gaze that was now locked on her.

“You know, I could ask you the very same thing,” said Coulson as he strode towards her with such fierce intent that Melinda felt Rodriguez stiffen by her side in a way that she knew her stewardess was now reaching for one of her many concealed daggers. He only stopped within inches of her, breathing hard. “I know you have no regard for me — you’ve made that very clear this past week — but please, explain to me what exactly I have done to make you view me as such a degenerate?”

“First you’ll explain how you lost control of your little Inhuman pet less than an hour after entering my house,” she countered.

“That happened after I showed them their quarters,” Mackenzie said nervously.

“Yes,” said Coulson. “Our _shared_ quarters, with a single bed.” Absolute silence filled the hall, one that Melinda couldn’t break even as she stared defiantly back up at Coulson. But the seeds of doubt that began to take root in the base of her stomach must have translated onto her face because confirmation filled Coulson’s eyes as he shook his head and took a step back. “You truly thought that Daisy and I …?” He trailed off, unable to finish that sentence.

“You’re not her father,” said Melinda, but the words sounding ungainly and awkward as she spoke them.

“No, but she’s the closest thing I have to a daughter,” said Coulson, his own anger slowly fading away as he stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “And to even suggest …” Once again his voice faded away before he regained his composure. “You really believed me to be capable of bringing a mistress right into your home?”

Although it was phrased as a question Melinda could tell that it needed no answer, and she began to feel a twisted barb of self-reproach press against her heart. Still, she tried to find an escape from this guilt. “Your only stipulation was that I allow an Inhuman into my domain. Of course we would assume that your relationship was a deeply personal one.”

“But you never cared to clarify the exact nature of it,” said Coulson. “She’s my child in every way but blood. To suggest anything else insults not only me, but her too, and that tremor? That is what happens when Daisy feels insulted.” He paused and for the first time Melinda saw beyond his anger, saw the very real hurt he was experiencing. “You know that beyond her companionship, I have nothing else. No lands, no great finances … not even a bloody ring for an heirloom.” Melinda jerked in surprise at that while Rodriguez and Mackenzie exchanged a puzzled look. He just smiled, faintly, sadly. “The Lady Simmons should know that tents don’t hold ones voice, and soldiers gossip. The world is a cruel place for those who don’t belong and I didn’t want to leave Daisy to its whims. Which you would know. If your cold nature had allowed you to know us at all.”

Melinda stared up at him, stunned by his words, ashamed of her actions, and after a few more moments of uncomfortable silence she tore he gaze from his face and address Mackenzie. “See that two separate quarters as made up for Coulson and Daisy.” She turned back to Coulson. “Satisfied?”

“Only on one point; I now think as little of you as you do of me.” And with that he turned and left the room.

Melinda, Rodriguez and Mackenzie stood there, shocked, feeling as if another earthquake had just rolled underneath them. Rodriguez broke the tension.

“What _happened_ between the two of you?”

“Nothing,” said Melinda, wearily, raising a hand to rub at her temple. She was such a fool.

“Nothing?” repeated Rodriguez incredulously. “I’m sorry, your majesty, but this doesn’t occur from nothing.”

“Nothing happened because I didn’t allow _anything_ to happen,” clarified Melinda, dropping her hand. “I was angry and wanted nothing to do with him. I ignored him.”

Rodriguez looked stunned. “For the entire journey?”

“Well, that explains why I was never informed of our newest guests — residents — requirements,” said Mackenzie. Melinda turned away as Rodriguez gave Mackenzie a pointed look to continue. “There were no royal orders so when the procession arrived there was no-one to meet them. Hunter informed me that they put their horses in the stables themselves, and they didn’t even have anyone to guide them through the castle until they requested to speak to the Head of the House. And I … I only had gossip from the guards to go on so …”

Rodriguez looked deeply disappointed in her queen. “Doing nothing certainly lead to some startling consequences.”

All the rage and injustice Melinda had been feeling for the past week drained out of her, replaced with a deep sense of guilt and regret at her behaviour, and with the loss of those fiery emotions that had fuelled her for so long a sudden sense of fatigue rushed up to claim her. She sighed deeply, abruptly desiring nothing more than peace and solitude. Her voice was incredibly soft when she spoke.

“Lady Rodriguez, I must ask for your forgiveness once more. I do not think I’m fit to conduct business today.”

Rodriguez bowed her head gracefully. “I thank you, majesty … but I am not the one who requires an apology, I think.”

Though she knew exactly what she thought, when Melinda left Rodriguez and Mackenzie she had every intention of simply returning to her quarters and loosing herself to some calming meditation or familiar books. She knew she had to seek out Coulson at some point but in her current state, both physically and emotionally exhausted, she couldn’t face the prospect of another meeting so soon with someone who clearly despised her.

So it seemed as if the Gods were playing with her as she neared her chambers and began to faintly hear some low chatter coming from one of the outer balconies that stood mere feet from her door. At first she thought it was maybe some servants seeking fresh air, or some guards on patrol, but as she got closer her heart sunk into her stomach when she realised that the very people she didn’t wish to see just happened to be situated just outside her chambers.

 _The Gods play with our misery_ , she thought bitterly. However, for reasons she herself didn’t know, she paused in precisely the right location to avoid detection from those outside even though she was close enough to her chambers to enter them without discovery. She knew eavesdropping was most certainly unbecoming of a queen, yet she couldn’t help herself.

“I don’t know why _you’re_ feeling any sort of regret,” came Daisy’s voice, anger still very evident in it but now it was contained, controlled. “You didn’t say anything that isn’t true and honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t loose your temper earlier.”

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper at all, Daisy,” said Coulson, and Melinda was surprised to hear genuine remorse in his voice. “And I certainly shouldn’t have said those awful things to her in the heat of it. I regretted them instantly but was too much of a coward to say so.” Beat. “I should find her. Make things right. Apologise.”

“What? No!” Daisy sounded as shocked as Melinda felt.

“She’s right to be upset, to be angry. A marriage of force is a terrible thing to endure —”

“But she is not the only one who is enduring it!” said Daisy, exasperated. “I know you, Coulson, and I _know_ you’ve been hurting just as badly over this as she has, but while you actually care for what she’s enduring she has made it abundantly clear that she cares nothing for you. You sacrificed a life of freedom so some little domain could have military protection and the queen treats you as if you were the cause of all her ills. Is that not worth _some_ anger?”

There was a long pause. Melinda could imagine him surveying the view, her trembling with indignation.

“It is a beautiful domain,” Coulson finally remarked.

“It’s cold,” said Daisy waspishly. “It’s a cold land for a cold people, under the rule of a cold queen.”

“I don’t think she’s cold, truly,” said Coulson softly. “Just … sad.”

Another pause.

“She’s never going to respect you,” said Daisy quietly, and with such touching despondency that Melinda felt that barb on her heart press closer. “You must know this, right?”

Coulson didn’t answer. But in that silence Melinda knew he agreed.

She slipped into her chambers unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

 

As she sat by Andrews’ grave she could no longer ignore the icy sting from her palm and removed it to tuck it back within her cloak. Snow had begun to fall in earnest as she had recounted these events and while it clung to her hair and dusted her shoulders she scarcely noticed it, instead feeling a profound sense of peace as she finally spoke of all her fears, concerns and regrets to the one person she trusted beyond all others. A sense of peace that was inevitably coupled with that deep sense of loss that she carried with her, always.

“I need to make things right with him,” she said, echoing Coulson’s own words. “But I don’t know where to begin.” In the quiet darkness she could almost hear Andrews’ voice whispering out to her; _So many things, good or bad, simply begin with the word ‘hello’_. But she knew this was no spirit, merely a memory of advice she’d already half forgotten. Advice that still had merit.

She stood, feeling the strain and relief pull at her muscles after sitting still for so long, and gently touched the tombstone once more in farewell. “Goodbye, my dear.”

Her return back to her chambers began uneventfully as she passed a respectful Piper back into her castle, sweeping as silent as a shadow through the halls so she soon reached her quarters — and then, in a parallel of that afternoon, she drew to a sudden stop as she saw that someone was already standing just outside her door. The exact same someone from that afternoon.

Coulson was lightly dressed in an open necked shirt and loose trousers in what Melinda could only assume were his nightclothes, although they didn’t look overly comfortable for their purpose, in her opinion. Perhaps his lifelong career as a soldier had lead to him to being in a constant state of alertness, that led to him basically sleeping in his clothes. He was standing by one of the large windows, staring out into the blue shadowed darkness, watching the snow fall as if mesmerised by it. Melinda had approached so quietly that he didn’t even notice her presence and after a few moments of containing her surprise and trepidation, she spoke.

“Hello.”

Coulson jumped nearly a foot into the air and turned to Melinda with such wide-eyed bewilderment that she only just managed to conceal a smile. _Oh, thank you, Andrew. Wonderful advice._

“Majesty,” he gasped out, keeping his voice low. He looked nervous, confused. “I — what are you doing out here?”

She felt her stomach twist itself into knots as her nerves overtook her. Nevertheless, she decided that some actual honesty could only help the two of them right now. “I … I sometimes take to walking by myself of a night. When I can’t sleep.” She paused, but Coulson seemed wary to continue the conversation. Considering her behaviour, she could understand that. “Those are my chambers,” she continued, pointing at the door opposite him. “Did you know that?”

“I — no,” he said. “I came here this afternoon, and I thought the view from this particular part of the castle was spectacular. My own chambers are just around the corner there.” He turned and pointed, and when he turned back seemed to be at a loss of how to continue for a moment before blurting out, “I couldn’t sleep either. I don’t know why because honestly, I’m exhausted. But … either the bed is too soft, or it’s just too quiet, or … maybe my mind is too loud now I have nothing to distract it with, but —”

“I’m sorry.”

This stopped his tirade only for a second. “What? No. Your majesty, _I_ should be the one apologising —”

“No,” said Melinda, quietening him once more. “What you said this afternoon … I understand that you were hurt, and you were angry, and that all came forward in a way that was ugly for both of us. But only one of us here was responsible for everything that led to that so please, let me own my actions. Coulson … I am sorry for how I treated you.”

Coulson just stared back at her, dumbstruck. After a long silence he finally managed to say, “Thank you, your majesty. And please believe me when I say if you have forgiven me for my foolish words, then you are well and truly forgiven for yours.”

“Or lack thereof,” said Melinda with the faintest of smiles. “And seeing as how we are husband and wife —” Her heart still twisted on those words, but not so painfully now. “— you must call me Melinda, at least in informal company.”

“Melinda.” He said her name as if the sound of it left as sweetness on his lips as he extended his hand towards her. “My name is Phillip.”

She took his cold hand for a moment before she this time slide her grip down to hold his wrist, and now it was his turn to look at her quizzically. “How did you know of the Trillieon marriage hold?”

“The night before our wedding, I asked Koenig about the rites and rituals of a Trillieon marriage,” he said, shrugging slightly. “The whole thing was so sudden and bizarre, particularly to you, that I thought some familiarity might bring you comfort.” He paused, and his grip loosened. “You … didn’t like it.”

“I was not prepared,” she admitted, although she tightened her grip of his arm. “This hold is much harder to break and carries much significance to my people.” She paused, finally letting him slip away. “It reminded me all too much of my first wedding. After Andrew’s death, I vowed never to marry again and yet there I was. ”

Coulson looked distressed. “I’m sorry.”

“Once again, not your fault,” said Melinda. “Though I made you shoulder the blame.” She paused a moment before she finally asked what she’d been wondering for a while. “So you truly never wed? Was that by fate or design?”

Coulson sighed. “A little of both. I never had much to offer someone, never even really had a permanent home, and there always seemed to be something that ended any romantic leanings short. Either she was too much of a solider like me, or dedicated to another craft …” And here a sudden twinkle entered his eye. “… or gets dragged back to her domain after playing at adventurer.”

Melinda’s smile blossomed into something beautiful as she shyly looked away. “Gods. I thought perhaps you’d forgotten about that.”

“Not a chance,” he smirked. “And don’t think I didn’t tell everyone I met for years afterwards of the time I travelled with a princess in disguise and she broke my nose.”

“I did not!”  she exclaimed softly, trying her best to keep her voice down even as she could feel unexpected laughter shake her.

“You did. There was blood and bruising. My profile was never the same.”

The two of them grinned at each other and it seemed as if the years between them were suddenly swept away. As Melinda gazed upon him she felt as though this were someone she could truly come to care for. But she would only start slow. “Do you think, that we could perhaps become friends again?”

Coulson nodded sincerely. “I very much hope so.”

Melinda smiled once more, ducking her chin into the fur-lined collar of her cloak as she turned towards her chamber door, before swinging back to Coulson on impulse. “If you read the Trillieon marriage rights, then you would know that it’s tradition for the bride to present the groom with a gift.” Coulson’s mirth quickly switched to concern, but she continued before he could react. “You said that you never really had a place where your belonged, you or Daisy. Well, you both have one now, if you like. I would very much like it if you were to think of Trillieon as your home.”

For a moment Coulson didn’t speak. Melinda could see that he was deeply moved. Finally, in a low voice he said, “Thank you. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Goodnight, Phillip.”

“Goodnight, Melinda.”

 

 

 


	6. The Mummy

 

 

The ornate and opulent paddleboat chugged peacefully along the winding ribbon that the Nile cut into the landscape, a full moon turning the warm evenings landscape into a beautiful vista of blue and silver planes that swam past as the _Queen of the Nile_ pushed further into isolation. And isolation was precisely what Phil Coulson sought out that moment, though he was loath to lock himself away in his cabin on such a lovely evening. He had, however, managed to find a quiet, secluded corner towards the back where he could enjoy the ambient sounds of water splashing lazily against the hull and the somewhat muted noises of music and laughter that came from the bustling activity at the front. He was sure Radcliffe was now enjoying himself immensely with his collection of new found drinking and gambling buddies and could only hope that, come morning, those ‘friends’ would be kind enough to leave last least a few dollars to his name. Radcliffe might be one of Phil’s oldest friends, but that didn’t mean that Phil approved of his particular life choices.

Phil tried to pull his mind away from imagining whatever new lot of trouble Radcliffe would probably get himself into that night and instead focus on the exciting research that he had spread out in front of him. Just looking at all the plans he was halfway through preparing was enough to put a smile back on his face, and he supposed he should give Radcliffe a bit of a break. Because if it wasn’t for him and his thieving ways, they’d never be on this boat and on their way with a very real chance of finding the ancient lost city of Hamunaptra. And just as quickly that smile slipped away and Phil’s eyes froze on the page, unseeing, as he remembered exactly who was now travelling with them as a guide, and what had transpired a few days earlier to make that so.

Phil had never really believed Radcliffe when he’d said that he’d found that trick box with the ancient map to Hamunaptra on a dig in Thebes, but that didn’t mean that prepared him for the extraordinary truth that had forced them on a journey to the overcrowded jail to speak to one of the inmates. When Radcliffe had finally admitted that he’d stolen the artefact from a former French legionnaire solider by the name of May who was currently drinking and fighting her way across Egypt, Phil had lowered his expectations to what he believed would be an appropriate level. And when he’d been told that that said soldier was now awaiting a hanging because ‘she was just looking for a good time’, he’d lowered it even further.

It wasn’t enough. He most certainly was not prepared for the filthy, snarling whirl of fists and feet that was dragged out and presented to them, an insolent ruffian who, once forced to her knees by the guards, looked up at them with open contempt and boredom. Phil felt his stomach sink. If this wild woman was their only link to Hamunaptra, then he considered the whole thing to be a loss before it even started. But that thought only lasted a moment. Her dark eyes, bright, clear and shining out from her dirt streaked face with intelligence and defiance, fixed themselves on Phil — and he froze. He suddenly found it hard to move let alone speak and for a moment the noise of the jail courtyards faded away to nothing. Then May sniffed and leant back on her haunches as she regarded them, asking swiftly, “And who the hell are you guys?”

Radcliffe clumsily tried to spin some story about him being a missionary but as soon as he got too close to the cell Phil saw May’s eyes widen with recognition and before he could blink she’d struck a quick, hard fist out between the bars and clocked Radcliffe right on the nose. Phil didn’t feel that he was a terrible person if he was completely unable to hide his small smile and when May looked up at him it was clear that she was somewhat taken aback.

“Aren’t you going to get upset that I hurt your friend?” she asked with total lack of remorse.

“No. To be honest, that happens all the time.”

She contemplated this for a moment before saying, “Yeah, I can see that. So what about you? You don’t look like the type of person that gets punched regularly.” Her mouth twisted to the side as she eyed him up and down in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable. “In fact, you don’t look like you do much of anything really, ‘cept read. Bet you have real soft hands.”

Phil was stunned. “Excuse me?”

May shrugged and looked away. “Hm. Guess you’re not a total loss.”

For a second every single word in the english language escaped Phil and it took him a few moments before he was able to stutter out, “I … we … we found your puzzle box, and we’ve come to ask you about it.”

She turned back to him, cocking her head to the side in disbelief. “No.”

“Uh … no?”

“No. You came to ask me about Hamunaptra.”

Phil felt his jaw drop. “How do you know the box pertains to Hamunaptra?”

“Because that’s where I was when I found it.”

Phil felt a sudden swirl of excitement rise within him. If May truly had been to Hamunaptra, then it didn’t matter that Fury had burnt the map that had been hidden in the puzzle box. Without realising he stepped closer than was safe to the bars, his words breathless and eager. “You were actually at Hamunaptra?”

A slow smile spread across May’s face, amused and yet somewhat predatory. “Yeah, I was there.”

“You swear?”

“Every damn day.”

“No, that’s not what I meant —”

May rolled her eyes, her smile fading. “I know what you meant. Seti’s place? City of the Dead?”

Phil dropped to his knees so he was now level with her. “Could you show me how to get there?” May’s eyebrows shot up in complete incredulity. “I mean, the exact location.”

There was a long pause as she stared at him as if she’d never seen anyone like him before. Finally she softly asked, “Do you want to know?”

Phil leaned in. “Yes.”

May pressed her face close to the bars. “Do you _really_ want to know?”

“ _Yes_.”

She beckoned him to come closer, until he could see every speck of dust on her beautiful face. He felt something spark alight deep within him as he gazed into those incredible eyes that were fixed on his in a way that was almost mesmerising …

Like a viper, her hand shot out and grasped his chin, yanking him in close enough so she could smash her lips against his. It all happened so fast and before he could react she’d pulled away.

_“Then get me the hell out of here!”_

And he had, through a neat mix of cash bribes and a promise of a quarter of all the wealth in Hamunaptra, which had lead to an unfortunate side effect with the warden Talbot attaching himself to the expedition so he could ‘protect his investment’. Phil sighed in frustration and tried to focus his attention back on his book. With Talbot’s overbearingness, Radcliffe’s perchance to gamble and the worrying distraction that Melinda May had somehow become, this entire expedition was becoming a bit of circus. Phil blinked suddenly as he realised what he’d just thought. No, Melinda May was _not_ a distraction. It was just a surprise to see her earlier that day, that was all. She looked different after a shower.

_“Personally, I think she’s filthy, rude, a compete scoundrel. I don’t like her one bit.”_

_A vision with silky black hair cascading down slim shoulders, a playful expression with sparkling eyes, classically dressed in beige trousers and a loose fitting white top with a bag nearly as large as herself slung across her back suddenly appear by his shoulder, leaving him once again speechless. He wondered if she knew how often she did that to him._

_“Anyone I know?”_

Phil nearly jumped a foot in the air when a heavy canvas bag was abruptly dumped on the tables beside him. Beside him May pulled a slightly apologetic face.

“Oops. Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Phil closed his book with a snap. “The only thing that scares me, Miss May, are your manners.”

Rather than be insulted May just gave him a sly smile. “Still angry about that kiss, huh?”

“Really?” Phil gave her a withering stare. “You call _that_ a kiss?”

That got her. All she did was narrow her eyes in reply before throwing open the canvas bag, which turned out to be a wrap for a whole host of weapons, primarily firearms. Phil jumped backwards slightly, grabbing at his books and notepads to get them out of the way as May settled herself on the opposite side of his table as she started to sort her way through the small armoury.

“Uh …?” Phil put his books aside to gingerly pick up a knife. “Did you miss the part where this is an archaeological dig? Or did I miss the part where we’re going into battle?”

“Look mister, there’s something out there, something underneath that sand,” said May, her focus on her guns. She shoved one into a holster at her side. “I got caught once — not again.”

Phil frown, still not truly believing that this was all necessary. “Yes … well … I believe there’s a certain artefact there. A book. Radcliffe is hoping for treasure, naturally. What do you think is out there?”

May looked up and for the first time that playful sparkle in her eye was gone. “In a word? Evil.”

Phil tried not to roll his eyes. “Look, I don’t believe in fairytales and hokum, Miss May —”

“Neither did I,” said May, cutting across him with a hard stare. “But my garrison did. In fact, they believed in it so much that without orders they marched halfway across Libya and into Egypt to find it, and you know what? All we found was sand, and blood.” She looked away and half muttered. “I swore I’d never go back.”

There was a moment when all that could be heard was the far off music and the water lapping below them.

“Then why are you?” asked Phil finally.

She looked up, surprised that he had to ask. “Because you saved my neck,” she said matter-of-factly. “Literally. And since you saved me from dying it’s only proper that I return the favour.” She paused briefly and before Phil could organise his thoughts on that statement she said, “And besides, it doesn’t look as though we’ll be the only ones out there. Your buddy Radcliffe’s cozying up with what looks like a rival dig on their way to Hamunaptra, too.”

“Oh no,” said Phil in dismay. “I was really hoping we’d be all alone.”

A shadow of that sly grin returned. “Really?”

“I — what — no!” _Dammit!_ How could she tangle him up so easy?

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean,” she assured him. “So what exactly are you looking for out there? A book? Maybe I should know more so I can help you get to it before them.”

“It’s the most famous book in history and it’s said to be buried out there,” said Phil quickly, somehow missing the way May’s expression softened and her smile became sincere as he enthusiastically babbled on. “The Darkhold. It contains all the secret incantations of the ancient kingdoms and is said to explain the mysteries of the entire universe. This legend is the very first thing that interested me in Egypt as a child and really, this is why I came here. Sort of, I don’t know, a life’s pursuit.”

“And the fact that it can apparently make gold and riches out of thin air makes no nevermind to you, right?” smiled May, already knowing that it absolutely didn’t.

Phil grinned, surprised. “You know your history!”

“I know my treasure.”

They shared a smile and Phil realised that this was the first time the two of them really seemed to be on the same page and that maybe, perhaps, a journey with Miss May wouldn’t be such a difficult trial after all. Still, he had to ask … “Um … by the way … why did you kiss me?”

May laughed, her attention back on her shotgun. “I don’t know. I was about to be hanged and you’re cute. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Phil felt his heart drop down to his knees. “Ah. Yes. Of course.” He awkwardly got up from the table, collecting his books. “I have to … go away now. To bed.”

“What? What’d I say?” May looked genuinely put out at his leaving but Phil, already halfway down the deck and repeatedly calling himself an idiot, missed it.

Back in his cabin, half dressed, he pretended to get ready for bed while his mind was really focused on one Melinda May and that kiss that had ‘seemed like a good idea at the time’. The kiss that had sent sparks flooding through his brain in the way no other kiss ever had, a wondrous jolt, a new, unnerving feeling …

He suddenly caught himself again thinking ridiculous thoughts about May and resisted the urge to smack a hand against his face. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! It wasn’t _that_ good of a kiss anyway.”

And then he didn’t know how it happened but there was suddenly a man in his cabin, draped in black cloth with numerous tattoos all over his face, holding a knife to Phil’s throat. “Where is the map?” he demanded.

Phil could barely speak, could barely breath. May was right. He wasn’t the type to get punched in this face, wasn’t the type to go on extraordinarily dangerous expeditions, wasn’t the type who got kissed by shockingly beautiful soldiers of fortune and was certainly _not_ the type to have a knife held against his neck. This was all becoming a little too much.

He quickly pointed out the map on the table but this didn’t seem to be enough to satisfy the man. “And the key?”

Phil drew a blank. “The key? What key?”

There was the sound of wood splintering and May was suddenly in the room, a pistol in each hand, her face as hard as stone as she quickly dealt with not only the man who had the knife to Phil’s throat, but also a second man who randomly appeared in the window before somehow setting the couch on fire. She snatched Phil’s hand and dragged him out of the room, providing cover fire for them the whole time, before slamming the door shut and turning to him with a brisk, “Time to go.”

For a moment all Phil could do was stare at her. “That was a really nice entry,” was all he could say before he suddenly remembered. “Wait! The map! We forgot the map!”

He made a move to, stupidly, go back into his cabin before May once again grabbed his hand and pulled him down the corridor with her. “You don’t need a map,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “It’s all up here.”

“Well, that’s _such_ a relief!”

It was utter chaos up on the open deck, with most things appearing to be on fire as bullets whizzed past at such a rate that there was every chance they could be hit by friendly fire as well as the enemy. But through all that Phil couldn’t stop staring at May, at how coolly she handled the insanity of battle, how precise every one of her shots were — how she was so busy loading her pistol that she didn’t notice a barrage of bullets peppering the wall next to them until Phil grabbed her and pulled her out of the way at the last moment. Once again, just for a second, May turned to stare at him as if she’d never seen the likes, before she quickly re-adjusted her grip on her two pistols and threw herself back into the fray.

When they managed to get to the side of the boat, the water churning beneath them, May turned to him. “Can you swim?”

“Well of course I can swim, when the occasion calls for it!” shouted Phil above the din.

May reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, twisting her hand in the fabric and dragging him closer to her so that for one insane moment Phil thought she was going to kiss him again. “Trust me. It calls for it.”

And then without warning she threw him over into the crocodile infested Nile.

As he hit the water Phil realised that he was in a huge amount of trouble.

Because he was now in very real danger of fall completely, madly, hopelessly in love with Melinda May.

 

 

 


	7. Vampire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - This chapter contains violence, blood.

 

 

 

 

Melinda had to admit that when news of the Great Revelation finally reached her little isolated corner of the world, she’d been one of those completely adverse to the modern concept of ‘mainstreaming’. Though she wasn’t nearly as conceited as some of her fellow vampires, who had now spend countless years deluding themselves into thinking some pretty stupid, almost messianic things, Melinda just simply knew nothing good ever came from vampires and humans trying the bizarre experiment known as ‘co-habitation’, and she would’ve been more than happy to remain in her secluded mountain retreat on the northern boarders of China, where she had been for the past 150 years, if it weren’t for her somewhat unmanageable progeny, Daisy.

While Daisy had been trying to draw Melinda out of her self imposed exile for the better part of a century, her success came about through unexpected and undesired means. Melinda knew only fractions of what her child was doing these days although she was aware that Daisy had recently, (within the last twenty years) become consumed with destroying the Watchdogs, a cult that had formed after the Second World War whose sole purpose was to hunt down and destroy vampires. Twenty years ago they had killed Lincoln Campbell, a human Daisy had laid claim to, and she’d been out for blood ever since. The Great Revelation had only served to bolster the Watchdogs ranks with fearful, vicious humans and even though Melinda had trained Daisy well there was still no way to plan for every eventuality. Daisy was the only progeny Melinda had ever made over the course of 900 years, her only child, and when Melinda had been awoken in the middle of the day by a wave of pure fear and pain that flooded the bond with her progeny, she had broken her solitude in an instant and had been nearly wild in her need to find and protect for her. In less than 24 hours she was once again by her side in that young little democratic nation known as the United States of America.

The Watchdogs might have been good, even good enough to capture a vampire as cunning and strong as Daisy, but nothing they had ever seen or experienced could prepare them for the wrath of a maker that was nearing her millennium. In less than a week Melinda had managed to wipe them out, only then refocusing her efforts on her child’s recovery.

That was nearly a year ago. Daisy was as strong and vibrant as ever, her heart now finally unburdened from the guilt of Campbell’s death, her body and mind healed from the evil the Watchdogs had inflicted on her. Melinda, for her part, had to admit that she wasn’t finding her re-entry into society to be as jarring as she’d expected it to be. There was something novel about this brave new world with its shiny new technology strongly contrasting with age-old superstitions. The city Daisy had chosen to live in was vibrant and exciting and while Melinda had been threatening with almost casual sincerity to return to her mountainous solitude for the better part of that year, she hadn’t yet had the heart to act upon those threats. There were reasons to stay. Lots of different reasons.

"You know, when I suggested you catch up with the world’s history, this was not what I had in mind.”

Melinda gave her progeny a side-long glance and remained silent as the two of them walked through the prestigious grounds of one of the country’s oldest colleges. It was located very close to Daisy’s residence and about a month after arriving Melinda had found herself wandering its grounds one warm night, admiring its architecture, appreciating the silence it held. Melinda always found something so comforting in that particular unnatural quiet that occurred in spaces that were usually bustling with activity, and it seemed that she was not the only one. That was how she met Phil.

She smelt him long before she saw him. A lone figure standing in the middle of the courtyard with one hand holding a collection of binders and papers at his side, the other wrapped around the handle of a coffee mug. His head was tilted back as he stared up at the light polluted sky, every now and then taking an absentminded sip from his mug. He smelt delicious.

She must’ve been even more eager than she realised to get to him, or maybe he was too enthralled with the nights sky to be paying attention to what was going on around him, but Melinda somehow managed to make it right to his side before he noticed her presences. To him, it was as if she had just appeared out of mid air. He yelped and jumped back, sloping coffee all over his hand and wrist as his papers spilled onto the ground. 

“Good God! Where did you come from?”

She didn’t say anything, just studied him for a moment. He was clearly a professor here, dressed in  a comfortable plaid shirt and wearing thick glasses, smelling of dusty old books, ink, coffee and something like vanilla — all delicate touches that hovered just above the rush of hot blood in his veins. There was something different about this one, something sweet and intoxicating, and if she were younger or less in control of herself her fangs would've popped out at that moment in undeniable hunger.

As she was more restrained she just asked, “What _are_ you?”

He blinked in confusion, still trying to shake the coffee off his hand. “ _What_ am I? Uh … a professor of history? Who’s late?”

“Late?” repeated Melinda, still staring at him as she tried to figure out exactly what it was about his blood that smelt so different. “If you’re late, then what were you doing just standing here?”

“Stargazing?” he offered. She raised an eyebrow at this and glanced up at the paltry excuse for a nights sky. The clean skies above her own remote residence fairly blazed with stars, while here in the city only the brightest managed to break through the smog. He shrugged at her obvious disbelief. “Okay, so there aren’t that many stars to gaze at, but you have to admit …” he looked back up. “It is a lovely night.”

Now she had another reason to stare. What an odd thing to do, to loose time gazing at a worthless sky.

He dropped his eyes back to earth and made a noise of complaint as he bent his knees and tried to pick up his papers one handed, the other precariously trying to keep his half-full mug from spilling anymore. She was quickly side by side with him, gathering the papers with much greater efficiency and swiftly standing before he knew what was happening.

“Oh, thanks,” he said, getting back on his feet and reaching out to take his papers back. She, however, held them to her chest.

 _I need a taste_ , thought Melinda. _Just a taste, just to figure out what he is. But not here._ She fixed him with her eyes, staring deep into his as she began to glamour him. “You want to come with me, right now.”

“Ahhhh …. no I don’t.” It was her turn to blink in confusion and surprise. For his part, he just looked perturbed. “I just told you, I’m running late.”

 _Oh God, Daisy was right. I am out of practice._ She redoubled her efforts. “That doesn’t matter. You want to be with me.”

“I said _no_.” Now he was beginning to sound annoyed. He reached out and plucked his papers from her arms, stepping back to study her for a change. “What are you trying to do?”

 _Eat you._ “Nothing.”

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?” Melinda didn’t think she’d ever get over how calmly people asked that these days, how bland curiosity had now replaced fear and awe. However, the question seemed so earnest coming from this particular human that she didn’t seem to mind so much. She nodded in affirmation and he actually smiled. “Oh, wow! I don’t think I’ve actually met one of you before. I’m Phil, Phil Coulson.” He attempted to extend a hand for her to shake, but seeing as how that was the hand holding his mug he paused halfway when he realised what he was doing, then raised said mug in a ‘cheers!’ gesture. Melinda found herself smiling before she knew it. “And you are?”

“Melinda.” That wasn’t even close to her entire name, but seeing as how vampiric titles and her ancient name would most likely sail above his head, she figured that ‘Melinda’ would do.

“Melinda, okay.” His smile faded a little. “So … why do you want me to come with you?”

“Curiosity.” And that was the truth, although Phil probably didn’t know that was because he was now a unique mystery in her life. Why on earth had her glamouring failed?

He nodded, and when she didn’t continue he prompted her with, “Curiosity about …?”

“History,” she answered swiftly. You didn’t reach 900 without learning how to tell a smooth lie. “I’ve been out of the world for a while, thought I might catch myself up on recent events.”

Phil looked rightly dubious. “So you thought you’d come to a modern history lecture?”

“It’s still my preferred way of learning,” she said, half-truths mixing in. “I missed out on the entirety of the last century and while I must admit that it isn’t a huge amount of time, I’d rather listen to a lecture than read about it online.”

Phil’s jaw a dropped at her casual dismissal of a hundred years worth of time and Melinda was somewhat pleased that humans could actually still be awed. “A century …?” He shook himself. “Ah, okay. So … what? You thought you’d just go and ask any old history professor to come with you and explain the 20th century?”

“Is that not how it works?” she asked, playing the fool. She knew damn well that wasn’t the way things worked, but she also knew that most beings, human or vampire, generally took fools at face value. And she was a little disappointed that Phil was no different. Then she wondered at herself that she should expect more from a human.

“No, not at all. Although, if you follow me this way,” he indicated once again with his mug. “You’re more than welcome to sit in on my lecture. If you like.”

“A lecture so late?”

“Night classes,” he explained.

 _Good,_ she thought. _Convenient. Even if I can’t glamour whatever this man is, I can still take him by force afterwards, when there’s no-one around._ As she sidled her way into the half-full room and quickly chose a spot in the back corner, she was already forming a plan to somehow either lure or just plain abduct this professor and take him back to Daisy’s place for further examination. And a taste. She needed to taste him. For such an unassuming man his blood positively sung out to her.

All she had to do was get him after the lecture.

It was hard to concentrate. His scent awakened a hunger in her that she didn’t even want to ignore and for the first ten minutes she’d allowed herself to drift, fantasising of how she would take him, if she would even wait to lure him somewhere else. She might not be able to glamour him but she certainly was still stronger and knew that she could still make him do whatever she wanted. She’d wait until the hall emptied and then grab him and throw him into the large chair behind his desk, straddle him in an instant, cover his mouth with her hand and pull his head to one side, exposing his jugular. Would she take a moment to breath him in, or would she just bite down hard and rough? She thought the latter would be more likely considering how much control she was having to exert when they _weren’t_ skin to skin. Just the thought of having him helpless beneath her made her fangs tingle and itch to come out. Only a few minutes in and she wanted this lesson to _end_. She wanted to _feed_.

Ten minutes in, and she found herself paying attention more from a lack of anything else to really do to wile away the time.

Half and hour in, and she was listening in earnest.

By lessons end, all thoughts of taking him against his will had vanished, leaving a sickly aftertaste behind.

That was ten months ago.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t just take him that night,” muttered Daisy as she kept pace by Melinda’s side. “Never mind why you keep coming back.”

“You’ve met him,” said Melinda. “You know why I’m interested.”

Daisy’s fangs had actually popped out the first time Melinda had brought Phil into her house and  while Phil had been shocked and just a little frightened, she’d been mortified, hiding her teeth behind her hand like a fledgling. Melinda had actually laughed.

“Oh, I get why you’re _interested_ ,” said Daisy darkly, still embarrassed. “What I don’t get is why you haven’t done anything about it! You’ve been attending his lectures every week, you’ve been seeing him socially — which, by the way, you _never_ do, not even for other vampires —yet you haven’t even had so much as a drop from him. Melinda,” she quickly stepped in front of her, stopping their walk. “Be serious. Are you planning on claiming him as yours?”

Melinda fixed her progeny with an icy stare. “I enjoy his company. That is all you need to know about the matter.” She paused. “And I haven’t seen him _every_ week.”

“No, no, you’re right,” said Daisy sarcastically. “There was that period during the summer holidays where he went out of town for a bit, and you spent the whole time sulking around —”

“As your maker, I command you to return to your home.”

Daisy’s mouth snapped shut and she gave Melinda a filthy look before she disappeared homewards at vamp speed. Melinda let out a long, frustrated sigh before she continued down the now very familiar path towards Phil’s office. There was still some time before he was due to start that evenings lecture and while their original plan did involve Daisy and a lively discussion about the true nature of the Cold War, Melinda now found that she had a good hour with Phil all to herself. Which, as Daisy was trying her best to point out to her, made her much more excited than it really should have.

Melinda knew exactly why she didn’t just grab Phil after that first lecture. She liked him.

She liked how his enthusiasm for his subject extended to his students, how he could have an entire hall focusing on every word he said. She liked his attention to detail. She liked the way he spoke to her, joked with her like she were just another human acquaintance rather than a centuries old being. She liked his odd collection of collectables and books, and how he had offered them to her as if she didn’t have a mass of wealth to buy her own books with. She liked how relaxed and comfortable she felt around him.

She liked how he made her feel in general.

Small touches to her hand, fingers brushing against the small of her back. The feel of his breath against her neck as they studied the rows of books in the college library and he’d come up behind her to pluck a book from a high shelf beyond her reach. Late nights at his apartment where he’d  unwilling drift off to sleep and she’d stay anyway. Listening to him breath. Watching him dream. His scent, once so potent to be almost overwhelming, now familiar and filled with a sense of peace. Daisy wasn’t wrong in her suspicions. Melinda did want to make him hers, but she didn’t want to claim him like so many other vampires did with such humans, who tended to treat those they claimed as little more than convenient blood bags that could also double as entertaining little pets. She wanted him to be _hers_. She wanted to be able to confide in him, and he in her. She wanted to take him away from his one dull little city and travel the world together. She wanted to explore new places with ancient meaning with him, to discover wondrous texts together … she wanted to show him what a _real_ nights sky looked like. She wanted him to be _hers_ because at some point during the last few months she had become _his_.

And this new and strange feeling terrified her.

Safer to keep things simple, keep things friendly. For all she knew, this feeling was purely one sided as Phil had never pushed familiarity beyond what was comfortable to both of them. So, for now, it was easier to keep things as they were. Melinda could see no reason to upset this happy balance.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the whistle of the bolt until it was a moment too late.

She twisted at the last second and the wooden bolt buried itself in her left shoulder, right above her heart. With a scream she collapsed to the ground on one knee, an agonising pain ripping though her entire body. Silver. The bolt was tipped with silver.

As the silver started to weaken her she made a desperate attempt to escape, pushing herself off the ground and running at vamp speed — just as another silver tipped bolt came out of nowhere to embed itself in her right thigh. She fell back down, crying in pain as another bolt struck her stomach … and another … in her forearm … her neck …

Before she knew it she was on her back, unable to move, thick, slow moving vampire blood oozing from her wounds as the silver invading her body had her paralysed with excruciating pain. In her mind she scream out for Daisy who was so close, yet so far away. A furious anger rose up within her, her fangs extending to their full length in a show of impotent rage, the anger helping to mask the cold fear that started to choke her as slow, deliberate footsteps made their way to her prone side. A tall man with heavy features came into view, a crossbow slung casually over one shoulder. He looked down at her with utter contempt.

“For all those horrific stories of your might I must confess myself to be very unimpressed by you, Melinda,” he said slowly, a thick Russian accent lacing every word.

“Who the hell are you?” she snarled, fighting to keep her voice level as she felt the barest touches of the True Death brush past her.

This seemed to be the wrong question. The mans face broke into an ugly scowl and he aggressively aimed to crossbow at her face. “Who am I? I am the last man you failed to kill a year ago. The last of the true patriots. I am the one who —”

The deafening crack of a gunshot made both of them freeze. For an incredibly long second neither of them moved, then Melinda saw a small, wet patch appear on the Russian’s chest, just above his heart. His head dropped down to stare in confused wonder as that patch quick blossomed into a wide blood stain and in the next moment he collapsed to the ground, dead.

“Oh, my God.”

Melinda felt her heart drop as true panic began to envelope her. _No, no, please. Not you._ She turned her head and saw Phil standing just behind her, his face a picture of shock, holding a gun. She could see his hands were shaking.

“Oh, my God, _Melinda_!” He let the gun fall to the ground uselessly as he dropped to his knees by her side, hands hovering over her many wounds as if desperate to help but unsure of where to start. “Don’t worry, I’ll … oh _Jesus_. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

 _No please, run_ , she thought hopelessly, in too much pain and affected by the silver to speak. _Run from me. You don’t understand. I need to heal. I need to feed. And you … you …_

“I’m so sorry,” he said before grabbing the bolt in her thigh and ripping it free. Melinda howled in agony at the removal and then started to cry at the rush of relief it gave her, cold thick blood leaking from her eyes in a mockery of sweet-and-salty human tears. _You don’t understand. Leave me like this. Wait for Daisy. If you free me before she comes, nothing will be able to save you._ But as he pulled the two bolts from her stomach that small, pleading voice in Melinda’s mind became fainter and fainter. Instinct warred with reason. As he removed the bolt from her arm he became less Phil Coulson, her wonderful, funny, kind friend, and more just a series of heartbeats and hot blood. And his scent. That delicious, long resisted scent. God he smelt _good_ and she needed blood, she needed to feed or she’d die. _No … please_ , the last remnant of Melinda’s conscious cried out as he pulled the bolt from her shoulder, his hands going to the final bolt in her neck. He was speaking, but she couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t see him. She was desperately hungry now, a wounded, ferocious animal that was nothing more than a gaping mouth and straining fangs. She was hurt, she was dying, and there was a temptation all too alluring right beside her, just out of reach.

He grabbed the bolt that was in her neck. He said something. It might have been an apology.

He pulled it free.

And it was only in that instant that he realised that Melinda wasn’t truly Melinda anymore.

She was never able to fully recall what happened next. Only strange and sickening sensations. Of a dangerous hunger that was given sweet relief by the most delicious, intoxicating elixir imaginable. It wasn’t just blood. It was freedom. It was sunshine made flesh. She was achingly hungry and completely uninhibited, tearing at the soft, withering body that she had pinned beneath her with abandon. She felt something hit at her sides a few times, hands pushing weakly. A voice shouted distractedly so she clamped a hand over the offending mouth and held it there like a vice. Her wounds healed, flesh knitting together anew, her strength returned and the pain vanished, yet still she fed. Slowly the distracting movement beneath her quietened, stopped. She didn’t notice.

_“Melinda!”_

She finally wrenched herself away from her meal as another vampire suddenly appeared, hissing and snarling, exposing her fangs and the entirety of her blood soaked throat. In moves too fast for the human eye to track the new vampire tackled Melinda straight off her prey, throwing her into a nearby wall before grabbing her by the neck and slamming her head against said wall for good measure. Melinda barely felt it, she was so hyped up on whatever type of blood she’d just drank.

_“Melinda, snap out of it!”_

A blow, quickly brushed aside. All she wanted was to go back to feeding without any one else encroaching on her territory. _Mine_ , she thought viciously. _Mine! Do no take him. He’s mine and mine alone, vampire._

“Melinda, _please_!”

Melinda blinked, and for a split second the face of the other vampire holding her against the wall swum into focus. _I know this one_ , she thought. _But he’s still mine. Mine! Wait … who?_ Melinda stopped struggling for a moment, blinking rapidly, trying to focus. Slowly the blood lust that veiled her eyes began to clear and the face of Daisy Johnson came into view. Her progeny. Her child. Who now had her hand around her throat and her fangs exposed to her maker, and a look of terror on her face.

“D-daisy?” she stuttered out uncertainly. Her mouth felt funny. A sweet, tingling sensation that made her want to lick her lips.

Daisy’s grip on Melinda’s neck didn’t loosen. “What the hell, Melinda? What happened?”

“Happened?” Her voice sounded odd, hoarse. A pungently saccharine smell seemed to surround her and it took another long moment before she realised that the smell was coming _off_ her. From her blood soaked clothes.

And it wasn’t her blood.

Everything came back in a horrible rush. Melinda’s gaze snapped away from Daisy to quickly find the prone and very still figure of Phil Coulson laying out on the ground, his neck covered in bites. Her bites.

She felt a hysterical scream rise up within her and made a move to shove Daisy aside to try to reach him, but her progeny held her firm. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” yelled Daisy. “We need to get out of here!”

“I have to help him,” stammered Melinda. Her mind still seemed to be working too slowly. The evidence was clearly before her but she still couldn’t quite accept what had happened. Someone had hurt Phil … but it wasn’t her … it could be her … she cared for him … she cared for him more than she should …

“Help’s coming,” said Daisy, and Melinda could already hear approaching sirens. “But we can’t be caught here with two bodies and you looking like this! If the authorities don’t get you the AVL will, now _please_!”

Daisy gave another forceful tug and started to slowly drag her away. Melinda’s eyes were locked on Phil, and when she saw his chest rise and fall ever so slightly she felt a fresh wave of ugly vampire tears burst forth. She felt weak, fearful, beyond remorseful and still ever so giddy and somewhat disconnected from not only her body but everything that was happening, riding the high that Phil’s blood had given her. If she were able to, she would’ve thrown up. In her current state there was little she could do but follow Daisy’s lead, holding onto her tightly like a child awoken from a nightmare. But this wasn’t a nightmare she could awaken from. His blood was all over her, within her. She had attacked her best friend, someone she truly cared for, had attacked him and ripped him apart like it was nothing. Ruined. Everything between them was now ruined.

As she and Daisy fled into the night she found herself glancing up at the poor star-starved sky as fresh tears continued to streak down her cheeks.

 

 

 


	8. Vampires

Everything was ordinary. Everything was smoother, lighter, brighter. Everything was ordinary. Phil sat in his tiny office, his desk piled high with essays from his first years waiting to be read and marked, something he actually delighted in even though he knew other professors saw such activities as a burden and a waste of time. They saw students struggling to properly articulate theories and unordered writing structures — he saw the first sparks of fascination, the beginnings of passion and the desire to improve. He picked up the first collection of papers, neatly held together with a paperclip, and settled in to read the first page.

It was blank.

He frowned slightly, knowing that there was something wrong with that, but unable to pinpoint exactly what. He put the clump of blank sheets back on the pile. Leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. Looked around his office. Everything was ordinary. Everything was light.

“Hello, Phil.”

He smiled. Melinda. She was sitting on the opposite side of his desk, dressed in her habitual black, her beautiful dark hair framing her face in soft curls, her eyes like smooth river stones beneath a cool stream. The warm light that filled the office like a gentle, physical thing seemed to wash out the features of everything around her, leaving her as a finely detailed and contrasting black mark against the rest of the world. For a moment he smiled happily at her, feeling ever so slightly dopey in a way that could be overlooked because that also felt so damn _good_ , when his smiled suddenly dropped from his face.

“The light!” he said, looking around wide-eyed at his open window that was allowing that glorious golden sunlight to flood his office. “Melinda, don’t we need to —?”

“No,” she said, smiling and shaking her head as she stood up and walked around his desk to stand in front of him. “We don’t need to worry about that.”

And like a switch being flipped he felt his anxiety leave him. She was right. Of course she was right. His smile returned as he tilted his head back to look up at her, enjoying this change in perspective that his seated position gave him. “I always wanted to see you like this,” he smiled dreamily. “I always wondered what you’d look like in the sunlight. Is that wrong of me? Stupid?”

“Not at all,” answered Melinda, her voice melodic. “And now that you see me in the light, is it everything you imagined?”

“Better.” He felt his pulse quickening as his eyes traced along every line and curve of her, noting how the sunlight swum through her hair in a way that made it look almost like a liquid, how her unnaturally pale skin seemed to now glow from within, how her eyes seemed to take the light within them somehow and sparkle with thousands of tiny sparks. “You are … so very beautiful. I haven’t said that before, have I?”

“No. Never.” She cocked her head to the side, curious. “Why not?”

“I was afraid, I guess. Afraid of loosing you, afraid of stepping over some boundary … afraid you’d see something in me that repulsed you.” He dropped his eyes down to look at his twisted hands. “I … I don’t know. With all your knowledge and experience, living the life you have … I must seem just so small in the scheme of things.”

One small, cold hand gently covered his knotted ones, her thumb moving in a soothing motion, while her other hand reached out so the very tips of her fingers could tilt his chin upwards, bringing his eyes back to her face. “Phil Coulson. You are the largest thing in my world.”

And then she kissed him.

Her lips were like silk, cool and soft. She quickly swallowed his gasp of surprise and deepened the kiss, her hands now running up along his neck to the back of his head where he could feel her fingertips against his scalp as she pulled him closer. His own hands were around her waist before he knew what was happening, travelling of their own accord first up along the planes of her back, then back down, revelling in the shape of her hips before grabbing at the swell of her ass and pulling her sharply down onto his lap. Now that she was straddling him she pulled back for a moment, smiling down at him with a mixture of playfulness and determination as she quickly pealed off her jacket to reveal a simple back tank-top underneath, before diving back down to recapture his mouth. Phil ran his hands up her gorgeously smooth arms before sinking them into her hair, tangling up his fingers in those fine strands and pulling ever so slightly, just enough to make Melinda growl in appreciation and nip lightly at his lower lip in retaliation.

Suddenly, he felt a odd kind of weakness begin to rise from within. Even with his eyes closed the light in his office seemed over-bright and now there was a strange ringing in his ears that seemed to serve as some kind of warning. But drowning all that out was Melinda. She was everywhere, the weight of her on top of him, her lips moving against his, her icy skin causing him to break out in a trembling waves that had nothing to do with her kisses. The light seemed to intensify for a moment, but he felt uncomfortably cold.

He broke the kiss off, pulling away enough to gasp, “Melinda!” But then she grabbed him back, crushing his words with her mouth and in the next instant Phil forgot what he was going to say. He wrapped his arms around her, groaning as he felt her rock steadily against him, one of her hands moving slowly down his chest to pull at the front of his pants.

“Wait!” Phil panted, finally succeeding in putting some space between himself and Melinda. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the now white light that enveloped them before Melinda came back into focus. She looked immaculate as always, only her hair being now somewhat disheveled. Phil could feel himself panting, feel the heat of his blood rushing to his head and … other places. Yet there was no bloodrush to Melinda’s cheeks, no swollen lips, no rise or fall of her chest and as she leaned back slightly in his lap, viewing him in an almost displeased manner, he felt another wave of warning wash over himself.

“What is it, Phil?” she asked, ever so calm.

Why _did_ he stop? He frowned and shook his head against the ringing, trying to concentrate. “I … don’t feel well.” Something akin to motion sickness seemed to be taking over, but that couldn’t be right. Not when they were completely still. Or where they? With this painful light surrounding them, it would be impossible to tell.

Melinda smiled, and for the first time Phil noticed that her fangs were out. Two perfectly sharp little points. Her smile morphed into something more sinister as she loomed over him. “I can make you feel better.”

Phil’s desire disappeared in an instant as he leaned back, then found himself trapped against his chair. “No, no Melinda. You don’t … _I_ don’t …”

Before he could finish his stuttering sentence Melinda moved like lightning and sunk her fangs into the side of his neck.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil awoke with a yelp, thrashing against the hands that suddenly appeared to press against his shoulders and hold him down. There was a painfully sterile white light that surrounded him and and ache that ran down his throat into chest, and for a split second he was sure he was back in that faded out reality with Melinda (but not _really_ Melinda) baring down on him.

“Sir! _Coulson!_ It’s all right! You’re okay, you’re safe now! Calm down!”

That strange weakness that had plagued him in his dream had followed him to the real world and he soon collapsed back down the face of the woman above him came into focus. “Jemma?”

Jemma Simmons, his former TA who still hadn’t quite managed to get out of the habit of calling him ‘sir’ even though she was now a faculty member herself, looked just as bad as he felt. Her normally immaculate hair was all dishevelled and heavy, dark rings under her eyes only served to accentuate how bloodshot they were. She was looking down at him with a mixed expression of fear and hope, and as Phil began to really take all of her in he noticed that the front of her shirt was covered in blood. Too much blood.

“Oh my God!” he exclaimed, struggling to sit back up. “Jemma, your shirt! Wha … what happened?”

“Sir, don’t —! Just, keep still!” she begged him, trying her best to push him back down.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

“Me?” The word came out shrilly. “ _Me?_ Sir … Phil … this is your blood.”

Phil froze. _No … it couldn’t be …_ He licked his lips and finally managed to rasp, “That’s … a lot of blood.”

“Yes,” said Jemma, her voice wavering dangerously. “It is. Sir … don’t you remember what happened?”

It all came back to him in a rush of images.

_It was dark … there was a terrible, unearthly scream … Melinda falling to her knees, an arrow sticking out of her shoulder … the tall shadow of a man close behind. Phil was just leaving his office but without really thinking about it he dashed back in, ripped open the bottom drawer of his desk and after a few fumbled attempts managed to pull out the small pistol he kept there … that he had bought years ago … ‘just in case’._

_He’d killed a man._

“Oh God,” he breathed, horrified at his actions.

_Melinda. In so much pain she couldn’t even scream. Her body strained, contorted, gruesome, terrifying wounds covering her. He only knew very few things about vampires, but he knew they could survive almost anything. But he had to remove those arrows. That’s all he had to do._

_She was crying. He’d never seen her cry before. It was thick, almost black blood that slowly tracked its way down her cheeks. He promised her she’d be fine. He’d tried to comfort her as he ripped those arrows out of her flesh. She didn’t seem to hear him. He’d thought she was just to overwhelmed._

_He had barely pulled the last arrow out of her throat before she attacked him._

_She attacked him._

Slowly, Phil raised one trembling hand to the side of his neck, his fingers grazing against gauze and tape before Jemma reached out to stop him.

“No, no,” she said softly, as if talking to a child. “Don’t touch that.”

_It hurt. It hurt more than anything else he’d ever experienced, but the shock of it all was somehow greater. Even as he’d screamed when she tore at his throat there was still some small part of his mind that was in complete denial. That this couldn’t be real. That this couldn’t be Melinda. Beautiful, sweet Melinda. He’d cried her name in desperation and she’d quickly covered his mouth with her hand, her fingernails cutting into his skin as she continued to feed. He’d tried to strike her, thrashed about underneath her, but she couldn’t be moved. Phil knew she was stronger than him, but to be actually confronted with this fact, to feel his skin being torn away and his neck and shoulder become soaked with his own hot blood, was terrifying._

_Phil couldn’t deny that maybe, just maybe, he’d fantasised about what it might be like to have Melinda take him, to bite him. From everything he’d heard, a bite was supposed to be better than sex. Closer, more intimate, more orgasmic, and after really getting to know Melinda he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t more than a little curious. But this was nothing like he’d thought. There was no intimacy. This was not personal. She was the predator, he was the prey, and that was it. A sickening darkness started to creep over him. A weakness grew deep within. Blood loss. She was draining him._

_Please … Melinda … don’t …_

_The last thing he heard before he blacked out was the horrid sounds of the monster Melinda had become, growling and gorging herself on his blood._

Back in the present, Jemma was watching him very closely. “Sir …?”

Phil swallowed hard, lowering his hand from his neck. “I remember,” he said quietly. “I remember being attacked. But how …?”

“I was just finishing up, making my way to my car, when I heard a fight,” said Jemma, her voice trembling. “And I saw … I saw _her_ …” She paused a moment, trying to collect herself. “I called 911 straight away but I didn’t — I was too — I’m _sorry_ , sir, I should have done something!”

“No,” said Phil firmly. His mind went back to how completely feral Melinda had looked. “No, you did everything you could. Anything more and you would have put yourself in danger.”

She nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “It was that other vampire, Daisy, who stopped it all, and then the two of them just disappeared.”

“Just like that?” asked Phil, feeling something sharp and painful start to twist around inside him. _She just left, after … after_ everything _she just left him laying there?_

“I ran out to help … there was so much blood and you were barely moving.” Jemma’s eyes drifted down to her bloodstained shirt, her fingers nervously pulling at it. “I put my jacket against your neck, tried to stop the blood flow, and waited for the ambulance. I thought you … I thought you’d …”

“That bad, huh?” said Phil gently. Still, that painful twist was waiting for an answer. “Has … has anyone … talked to Melinda?”

Jemma’s eyes flashed in anger. “The police went around to Daisy’s house, but neither of them could be found. They think they’ve skipped the country. Probably think they’re above human laws.”

“Or maybe they’re scared,” murmured Phil, small drops of memories of late night conversations he’d had with Melinda regarding vampire codes and regulations swimming around his tired mind. She could meet the True Death for something like that so he could understand her wanting to get away as far and as quick as possible. Still … “She hasn’t called or anything, has she?”

He might have imagined it, but he thought Jemma hesitated for just a fraction of a second before saying, “Why would you even _want_ her to?”

“I don’t blame her for what happened. No, really I don’t,” he said in reaction to the look Jemma gave him. “You didn’t see her earlier. She’d been shot with actually goddamn arrows that had silver on them, and she was just in so much pain. I should’ve called for help, should’ve waited.”

“This is not your fault!” Jemma said strongly. “Don’t even begin to think that. She was the one who lost control.”

“I know, I know … I just …”

Suddenly a look of painful understand came over Jemma. “I know.”

Phil nodded and looked down in what he hoped was an offhand manner, while his stomach sank. Well, this was humiliating. And heartbreaking. As he took in Jemma’s sad little smiles he could see that she knew; she knew how much he cared about Melinda and she pitted him for it. He didn’t want that, but could understand. He’d been such a fool, sucked in like all those other dupes you read about in trashy magazines or saw on the nightly news. He should’ve known better, should have seen all those warning signs, should’ve just used common sense and known that there was no way a centuries old vampire actually cared for him. He was just a speck in the world, a mayfly. Yet despite all that logical information he’d really tricked himself into believing that maybe he was special to her, that Melinda actually enjoyed his company and genuinely like him. What an idiot.

Just then he was roused from his thoughts as a young doctor entered the room, eyed still fixed on the chart he was carrying as he began to speak. “Well, good morning Mr Coulson. I trust you’re feeling — oh.” He stopped short as he finally looked up and Phil was relieved as his emotions suddenly switched from self-flagellation to amusement. Both the doctor and Jemma were staring at each other like deers caught in headlights. “Miss Simmons!”

“Morning, Doctor Fitz,” said Jemma, not nearly as composed as she probably thought she was.

Dr Fitz looked distressed as he took in her appearance. “I thought I told you to go home last night. Clean up.”

“And _I_ told _you_ that I couldn’t leave. Not until I knew everything was going to be fine.”

Dr Fitz stuck his hands on his hips and gave Jemma a very teacherly look while Phil watched on, smirking. “Look, even though the procedure is somewhat … _unorthodox_ , it still gives unquestionable results. I told you he was going to be fine.”

“Well, that still didn’t mean I was just going to leave him,” began Jemma shrilly before Phil cut over the top.

“Uh, excuse me? Procedure?” he asked. They turned simultaneously to face him. “What procedure?”

Now he knew he wasn’t imagining it. The blood drained from Jemma’s face. Dr Fitz also noticed, slowly looking between the two of them. “You haven’t told him?”

“Well, he only just woke up!” said Jemma defensively. “I don’t think this is the best time to —”

“Jemma,” said Phil softly. “Please. Tell me what?”

Jemma’s mouth worked silently for a few moments as she struggled to articulate her next sentence. “Melinda … did come by. Last night.”

“What?” He hated how his heart jumped a little. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because … because …”

“Because what the three of us did was more than a little _off the books_ , shall we say,” said Fitz. “Proven to be effective, but still …”

“Unorthodox?” supplied Phil, feeling more and more concerned with each passing moment. “What. Happened?”

“The vampire, Melinda, gave you a blood transfusion — of sorts,” explained Fitz. “And I say of sorts because nothing was done intravenously. She just bit into her wrist and let the blood run into your mouth. From a logical, medical point of view that should not have worked, but results were seen within seconds. Your body somehow went into overdrive, producing red blood cells at an alarming rate, all your wounds healing so quickly it was visible and it was just … incredible!” At the somewhat startled looks Phil and Jemma gave him, he tried to reign in his enthusiasm. “I mean, still disgusting and somewhat pagan, yes, but really, you can’t pretend that this isn’t a bit of a modern miracle. I had of course heard of the effects vampire blood could have on a person but I never thought I’d actually be able to witness them for myself.”

Phil frowned, shaking his head slightly as he tried to absorb all this. “So Melinda did come by, and have me some of her blood. What, did you call her and ask for a donation? I thought you said they left the country?”

“Well, they have now,” said Jemma. “And no, I didn’t call her. She just sort of appeared.”

“Good thing she did, because — and not to put too fine a point on it — but it you hadn’t received her blood, you most certainly would have been dead by now,” said Fitz. “For some reason the transfusions weren’t taking this time. I mean, I’ve dealt with vampire bites before, but never with someone who was near compete exsanguination and maybe that was somehow playing havoc with our treatments of you.”

Phil tried desperately to ignore that little bubble of hope in his chest. “So you’re saying she saved me.”

Fitz smiled and nodded. “Yes. And at considerable risk to herself, I might add. The police were looking for her and she could’ve just left, but she chose to come back and help. That means something.”

“No it doesn’t,” said Jemma, looking sour. “So she came back; so what? She’s the reason you’re here in the first place, so I don’t think she should be given too much credit for not being a total monster. She didn’t say one word, Daisy did all the talking and she … she … God, Phil, she was still covered in your blood! All crusted on her face.” Jemma shivered in revulsion. “And we haven’t even talked about the side effects!”

The bubble popped. “Side effects?”

 

* * *

 

So, as it turned out, that oddly realistic dream of his wasn’t a one off. _Bonded_ , that was the word Daisy had used, and although it meant almost nothing to the humans in the room Phil could have a rough guess at what that entailed. He and Melinda now had some sort of a connection between them, something that had formed after they had exchanged blood. Without Melinda or Daisy around Phil had to resort to the internet to figure out what exactly that meant for him, and while information was scare to say the least (vampires still secretive as ever) from what he could tell Melinda had in essence _claimed_ him. _Hers_. There were some privileges attached to that. Speed healing was a big bonus, although that was a one off. He was now immune to other vampires, as a marked man they wouldn’t touch another vampire’s property, but he wasn’t too sure how he felt about that. He hadn’t asked for that, hadn’t exactly enjoyed the events that led to it, and now without her to guide and help him he was left to search for answers alone, stuck with the babblings found in strange, hyper-fixated blogs that were more theory than fact.

He couldn’t deny it, but at times he felt angry. One of the supposed side effects of a bond was that the vampire could feel the emotions of the one they had claimed, and sometimes when that anger rose up he allowed a mean-spirited spite to feed into that and really let himself _feel_ , feel how used, how abandoned, how hurt, how just plain furious he was with Melinda. And, when he was at his lowest, he nastily hoped that somewhere out there in that big, bad world, she could feel it too.

And then there were the dreams.

Most nights were normal, but at least once a week he would be back in that hyper-coloured dream world with her. Sometimes he would realise straight away what was happening and wake himself up, but usually the dream would play out for the whole night and only when he woke would he realise he was focusing on the wrong reality.

Sometimes she would bite him.

Sometimes she would kiss him.

But mostly, they just carried on in his head in much the same way they had when she was with him in real life. Maybe a little closer, maybe a little softer. The spoke of books and authors as they did before, but now they would both be reclining back in a large chair, her head nestled against his shoulder. They would debate the importance of historical events, but every time he won a point against her she would playfully lean over and lightly kiss his cheek in reward. And together they could watch a sunrise.

He hated it. He hated those dreams more than he did the ones of her attacking him. Because he had read that those dreams they shared weren’t just dreams. That somehow, through whatever strange vampire biology or magic, the two of them really were meeting. Their consciousness, their souls, whatever it was called, the two of the really did have some sort of real interaction in his head. He just knew Jemma had a Harry Potter quote for this very situation.

The first time he’d been aware that he was dreaming, that he really was talking to Melinda, he’d been so shocked that he’d woken himself up. But the next time that happened he’d been able to hold on just a little bit longer. Just enough to yell at her.

“Why?” The syrupy light that hung around them seemed to wash out Melinda’s features this time, rather than accentuate them. “Why did you do it?”

She’d seemed amazed by this. “You know what’s going on here?”

“As much as I can know, seeing as how all the information I’m getting is from very disreputable websites,” scoffed Phil before the weight of what she said hit him. “Wait. Do _you_ know what’s going on?” Her eyes widened and she looked away, confirming it. “Oh my God! This whole time, everything we did, you _knew_? You were aware?”

“No!” she cried, then hesitated. “Not every time.”

“When? When were you just as unaware as me?” he asked, not noticing that the light has started to fade. “I’d really like to know when you were just as stupid and brainless, Melinda. Might make me feel better about myself.”

He could see that barb had hit her, and her eyes became hard. “Whenever I bite you.”

He nodded tightly. “Yeah. I can see you loosing control there. So, why?”

“Why what, Phil?” asked Melinda, exasperated. “Why did I bite you? Because I couldn’t help myself. Because I’m just that much of a monster, okay?”

“I don’t blame you for that!” said Phil. “Out of everything that had happened, _that_ at least I understand. You were hurt. You needed blood and I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I get that.”

Melinda blinked. “Then why are you so angry? I feel it, Phil. I feel it when you get mad and I know when it’s directed at me.”

“I’m mad because of this!” shouted Phil, throwing his arms around to indicate everything. “I’m mad that you just left! That you set up this bond between us without any warning of what it would do and then just cut me out completely! I couldn’t call you, or email you or anything, and I was left alone with whatever the hell is happening to my head right now and you just — you were just _gone_!”

And just like that his eyes had snapped open and he was back in his apartment with the bedside clock reading just past three am. “Dammit.”

It was only days after that he realised that Melinda must be aware of what was going on when the two of them were simply together reading, researching, just enjoying each other’s company. There wasn’t anything special about those dreams, so why did she care enough to stay there?

As the weeks passed the anger in him faded and cool logic began to press against his heart’s wounds. He knew that this whole messy situation wasn’t Melinda’s fault. The body of the man he’d shot had been identified as a known terrorist and vampire-hater, who had been hell bent on killing Melinda and had very nearly succeeded. She had needed his blood to survive and by some odd twist of fate, he’d needed hers in return. This bond they now had, this emotional link, was a by-product none of them had ever really expected.

He’d felt so strange and awkward whenever he realised he was in a dream with her that for the next few encounters he’d purposefully woken himself up rather than deal with her, but after nearly four months of this he knew he couldn’t keep dragging it on. There was something about the way Melinda interacted with him in those dreams, something soft and unspoken. Once he finally figured out what that was, he knew they had to have a real talk.

Finally, one night he collected himself enough to stay. They weren’t in their usual location of his office this time. Instead, the two of them were laying in a quiet, snow covered field that felt more like laying on a soft feather mattress than on the cold, wet ground. Above them the sky fairly blazed with stars, the Milky Way cutting a graceful arch across the black. As with the times before Phil only became aware that it wasn’t real about halfway through, but for a few minutes more he allowed himself to indulge in it regardless. Melinda was curled up by his side, tucked in close just under the crook of his arm with her head on his shoulder and one arm flung across his chest and she was speaking very softly, her language altering from english to cantonese in this strange dreamstate. He pulled her closer, letting her  indistinct words drift over him as the stars moved above. Suddenly she stopped talking, moving to push up on her elbows so she could look down at him, studying him closely.

“You’re here,” she said finally.

“I’m here.”

She looked tense, worried. “You’re not leaving.”

“No,” he said. “Not yet. We need to talk.”

Melinda sighed and pushed herself up off him, walking away slightly. “I thought we already did that.”

“We yelled. And I’m sorry for that. I had some things I needed to get off my chest but now … now we need to really talk.”

“About?”

“About this bond,” said Phil, also standing but making no move to get closer to her. “About why you won’t contact me in the real world, but you’re quite happy to let this play out here.”

Her face didn’t change, but her hands did ball into fists. “I told you, I can’t help this. Not all the time.”

“And I believe you,” he said soothingly. “You don’t always mean to be here. But when you are aware, you don’t leave and that’s because here, in this detached little world, we’re both safe.” Melinda looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid to see me in the real world again.”

“I nearly killed you, Phil,” she whispered, turning back to face him. Here, in this other world, her eyes were filled with human tears. “And if it wasn’t for Daisy, I would have. Even in the hospital when I saw you laying there, not moving, barely breathing … I still wanted more. I still wanted …” She broke off, one hand pressing against her mouth as if she was going to be sick before she was able to gain control of herself. She gave him a hard look, even as tears dropped steadily down her cheeks. “So yes, I am afraid to see you again. I’m afraid that something will come over me, and then I’ll just finish what I started, that I’ll rip into you, hurt you. Come on Phil! Don’t tell me you’re not frightened. Don’t tell me you’re not disgusted. How can you even _look_ at me?”

“Easily.” He pressed his lips together in some semblance of a sad smile and shrugged at her disbelieving face. “No-one believes me when I say this, but I wasn’t afraid during the attack. Could be because I was in shock, admittedly, but I was never once afraid of you. Angry, sure. But even then that anger was born more from frustration than anything else.” His voice hitched slightly as he continued. “I’m not the only one who misses it, am I? Our talks. Our little games. Just … being with each other. I always thought that whatever I was feeling was just a one sided thing, but now, here … well, you wouldn’t _be_ here if you didn’t want to be. And there’s nothing to really entice you expect … me. Although, I don’t know too much about this one.” He looked around at the perfect night’s sky. “We never did anything like this.”

“But I wanted to,” said Melinda softly, her voice raw. “The first night we met, you were star-gazing. I always wanted to show you a real night’s sky.”

“You still can,” he said, moving closer to her.

She shook her head, but didn’t move away. “No. Whatever this was, it needs to end.”

“You could’ve ended it a while ago,” Phil pointed out. “But you didn’t.”

“And that was selfish of me.”

“Not if we both want the same thing.”

“Phil!” He stopped, only inches away from her now. “Think about what you’re asking.”

He smiled down at her, gently reaching out to take her hands and slowly unravel them from her middle. “I’m just asking to be with you. Even for just a little while longer.”

Above them the stars started to flicker as parts of the sky began to black out, leaving strangely shaped holes behind. They both glanced up for a moment before looking back at each other.

“I don’t think we have longer,” said Melinda, unconsciously moving closer to Phil. “I think you’re waking up.”

“But I won’t be gone,” said Phil. “I’m just a phone call away. You know that. And from what I’ve read, with this bond we have now, you’ll always know where to find me.”

At the mention of the bond Melinda looked slightly guilty, but that still couldn’t stop the light of hope that sprung up in her eyes. “You’re taking a terrible risk.”

“Feels more like a leap of faith.”

“I can’t go back to America.”

“Then I’ll come to you.”

“You just won’t take no for an answer, will you?”

“Well … you haven’t really said no.” Phil paused and pulled away, suddenly worried that he had misread this entire situation. “I’m ready to see where this might go, but if you truly don’t want to see me then say so, plainly. And that’ll be it.” The darkness around them thickened and drew closer. “So what do you say, Melinda?”

She stared up at him in wonder, dewy droplets still clinging to her eyelashes, before taking a deep breath and —

 

 

 

— if he didn’t need his phone as much as he did, then it and the alarm now screaming out and waking him would be smashed to pieces right now.

Phil groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Dammit!” He dropped his hands, staring up at the ceiling as the real world slowly solidified around him. He sighed. Well. Hopefully Melinda would at least think about what he said, and maybe next time they had a bit of lucid dreaming he could —

His phone started ringing.

He knew who it was before he looked at the caller ID and answered with a grin. “I was really worried you were going to say ‘no’.”

“I still might,” said Melinda playfully, her voice more distorted over the phone than it had been in a dream reality. “But I know I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try … whatever this is.”

“Whatever this is,” echoed Phil, unable to keep the smile off his face.

And as the morning sunlight tickled his face, he cheerfully made plans to move into the dark.

 

 

 

 


	9. Vegas

Phil Coulson hated Las Vages. He hated how noisy it was, how artificial, how sterile, how bright, how big, how confining, how confusing and just how damned overwhelming the whole place could be. He resented it even more because this chaos was exactly what it _wanted to be_. It was a ridiculous city with a seedy darkness to it that couldn’t be hidden no matter how many neon lights blazed from every corner, full of drunken party-goers and strung out gamblers desperately crawling towards a prize they would never reach. Phil had always found the place depressing, the forced frivolity crowding in from all angles only serving to enhance that strange feeling of disconnectedness. Right at that moment, as he stood in the middle of the press of bodies, swarming underneath the mirrored ceiling that reflected a thousand glittering lights of the never-ending expanse of poker machines, bells and horns and whistles, he’d never felt that heightened loneliness more keenly.

So, like millions before him, he listlessly fed it twenty dollars into a poker machine and hit _Spin_.

After a second of whirls and beeps a small noise of failure sounded, and he stood there twenty dollars poorer.

A sigh slipped out of him, more from resignation than disappointment. Of course. Of course he wouldn’t even be able to win at something as minor as that. His entire day had been made up of losses, so why should this be any different? He should just go back up to his room, order dine-in on the company card while he still could, and see if he could get drunk off the minibar.

With his mind made up he turned around — and stopped in his tracks at the most bizarre sight he’d even witnessed.

A woman — a _beautiful_ woman — dressed in a pair of jeans, tank top, leather jacket, a pink frilly tutu and a multicoloured hat with a spin wheel on the top, was standing directly in front of him, wide-eyed with nervous anticipation. Before Phil could even begin to form words in his mind, let alone his mouth, the strange woman dropped down on one knee and flung her arms wide in a grand gesture that made everyone in the general area turn to watch.

“Oh sir!” Her voice was strong and confident, but there was a stiffness to her body that showed that she really didn’t want to be doing this. “Pray tell, what is your name?”

“Wha …? Uh, Phil?” 

“Wonderful Phil,” she continued, her jaw clenched. “I am a spirit of fortune and dreams, and I appear before only those true of heart. Tell me your bidding, and I shall make it so!”

All around them the sound of snickering laughter could be heard, and for a split second all Phil could do was stare. Even for Vegas, this was weird. “What the hell?”

“Bid me to do something,” continued the woman through gritted teeth, as she continued to kneel.

“To do what?” asked Phil, dumbfounded.

“Something, anything!” she said, sounding more desperate. “It’s a dare and I need it to be over, so quick, tell me to do something!”

“A dare?” Phil look around and sure enough, standing just near enough to watch but not so close to be caught in the unwanted attention, was a gaggle of woman all dressed in similar pink tutus, clutching at each other and giggling. One had her phone out. One was wearing a long pink sash with the word ‘Bride’ bedazzled on it. It hit him in a moment; it was a hen’s night. “Uh …” He cleared his throat, then in a loud voice quickly said, “I bid you to stand up!”

An almost theatrical groan rose up from the other tutu’d ladies as the woman in front of him swiftly got to her feet, slapping the stupid hat off her head in the same movement. She let loose a sigh of relief as she met his eyes — and for one small, quiet moment amidst all the glitter and glare the two of them actually saw each other. The noise around them seemed to fade, the lights dimmed just a little, and this strange woman blinked slowly as she finally saw him for the first time. She gave Phil a tiny smile of gratitude and he found himself smiling and shrugging in return. However, that was lost in the next second as she threw a poisonous glare at the group of chattering ladies who quickly came to crowd around her, pushing Phil to the side in an instant as all around them the people who had stopped to watch quickly lost interest and the whole world once again started to swim past without another glance.

Everything came back into painfully sharp focus once again, and Phil was quickly reminded of his previous goal of getting back to his room for some peace and quiet and alcohol.

“That was ridiculous,” snapped the woman, throwing the spin-top hat at a long haired lady.

“It totally was, and I can’t believe you actually did it!” chortled the woman who’d been holding the phone, just as he was shuffling past them on his way to the elevator. “He could have asked you to do anything, anything at all, but somehow out of all the guys here you just happened to pick a decent one who — hey! Hey, mister! Phil!”

She called out to him just as he hit the button for the elevator and while Phil felt his back stiffen, he still turned around. They might’ve been loud and boisterous but he could tell that it was all just a bit of harmless fun. He’d just hoped that they’d stopped having fun with him. “Yes?”

The younger woman rushed forward to him, breathless, eyes bright with something more than excitement. “Hey, quick question — why aren’t you a perv?”

“Daisy!” The woman in the leather jacket quickly gabbed Daisy by the arm and pulled her away, smiling apologetically at Phil. “Sorry. What she meant to say was, ‘Thank you for being kind to my friend, who I made do the stupidest dare ever'.”

Daisy screwed up her face. “I don’t think that was quite what I was going for …”

“I, uh …” Phil trailed off as the rest of the woman started crowding him.

“No, really, you were so nice!” exclaimed another woman in a precise english accent, her expression open and earnest.

“I don’t know, Jemma. His niceness was really just a waste of a dare, I think,” sniffed the long haired bride of the pack as she fiddled with the hat, her words soften by her lovely lopsided smirk. “I was really hoping May would be made to do something _really_ embarrassing.”

“Well, keep hoping, YoYo, because your only chance to see it has gone,” snarked May before she turned to smile once again at Phil, who felt a somewhat uncomfortable drop in his stomach. Now he had a name for the beautiful woman.

Thankfully, the bell for the elevator rang out at that moment as the doors next to them swished open revealing a small, mirrored box. Phil managed a weak smile for the group of slightly inebriated ladies as he said, “Well, I can’t say sorry I didn’t embarrass your friend too much, but it looks like my ride is here so I …”

“Oh, oh!” exclaimed Daisy suddenly, waving her phone around. “No, wait! We’re going up too!”

“We are?” asked Jemma, dazed.

“Yeah, the next site is up at the pool level,” she said, squinting at her phone. “Quick, everyone, lets  just …”

And suddenly Phil found himself pushed into the far corner of the elevator as six more woman poured in behind him, with May somehow ending up standing right next to him, smiling apologetically as the other ladies crowded themselves around Daisy’s phone, all trying to read whatever was on the tiny screen at the same time.

“Sorry about this,” murmured May, standing close enough for her tutu to brush against his hands, which he quickly hid behind his back.

“No, no, it’s okay,” he said instantly, even though it was exactly this sort of behaviour that had previously made him want to retreat to his room. “What exactly are you doing?”

May sighed and rolled her eyes. He could tell that she was the most sober and had probably been put in the roll of ‘designated driver’, and felt a wry pity for her predicament. “I’m not completely sure, but it seems that the hotel had some sort of hen’s party app-game-thing that’s a combination of truth or dare, a video game, and a treasure hunt.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Seems to be working so far,” she shrugged. “And considering this whole thing is really a Vegas wedding, in _every_ sense, I’m just glad that we’re doing more than just hitting a strip joint and getting wasted.”

“Strip joint?” The tall, blonde woman’s head shot up in an instant. “Yes!”

“No!” May countered. “The hen’s night stays in the building, then off to the chapel at eight!”

“Oh, you beautiful woman, that’s why you are in charge!” grinned YoYo like a proud, tipsy mother. “Keeping us all together!”

“You’re all so lucky I like you,” growled May, causing all the other woman to giggle.

A chime announced their arrival at the pool level and as soon as the doors opened they all poured out, Daisy in the lead with the phone held in front of her like a compass. Just as Phil was about to let loose a sigh of relief and continue upwards May turned back to him, extended a hand and asked, “Phil? Are you coming?”

He almost felt his jaw drop off. “What? Oh, no, I don’t want to crash …” he started, but she quickly waved a dismissive hand.

“You don’t have to stay long. Just let me buy you a drink. As a thank you for getting me out of that dare. Please?”

He hesitated. But then, just as the doors started to automatically close again something made his hand shoot out to hold them back as he jumped out of the elevator to join May, a careful smile just beginning to form. “You know what? Sure.”

Twenty minutes later he and May were seated by the poolside, each nursing an incredibly elaborate cocktail that May had ordered them as they watched the rest of the group egg on a short woman called Piper now wore the silly hat as she attempted to find someone in the pool area with a certain kind of tattoo. In that time Phil had discovered that YoYo and her boyfriend, Mack, had surprised their friends yesterday by announcing that they were getting married as soon as possible, with the bridal shower, buck and hens nights and wedding all happening on the same day as quick as possible. They’d hired a mini bus and arrived in Vegas earlier that afternoon and were now barrelling through  their set lists of activities beyond all meeting up at the chapel. The whole thing made Phil’s head spin.

“I have to admit, this is fun when someone else is suffering,” grinned May, taking a sip as she watched Piper becoming more and more frustrated.

“I guess so.”

“Hm.” She quirked an eyebrow, viewing him in an appraising manner before she turned to face him square on. “Okay, spill. You know why I’m here. What are you doing here? I mean, if you don’t mind me saying, you didn’t exactly look like you were having a good time.”

“I’d just lost twenty dollars.”

“Before that.”

Phil sighed and took a sip of his sickly sweet, potent drink. “That obvious, huh? I don’t like Vegas. I would rather be anywhere else, seriously, but I’m here on business, for a conference. However, my new boss, who is actually in my old role so yeah, I’ve been demoted recently, has basically just told me this afternoon that I’m pretty much out of a job when we get back. The ultimate demotion. Which I could almost deal with, if only they hadn’t sent me to Vegas. Oh, and to top it all off, my partner and I have been trying that long distance relationship thing and … it’s not working. So, yeah. I’m not having a good time.” He stopped, horrified at how much of his pathetic life he’d let loose on her, staring down into his drink with a small frown as he silently blamed its high alcohol content on his verbal tirade.

But when he finally got the courage to look back up at May there was no judgement or scorn. “I’m the oldest at a hens night, so recently divorced that no-one quite knows yet what to say to me in this sort of situation, who’s main role this evening is to keep the kids in check. Oh, and the reason I was able to come to Vegas on such sort notice is because my job didn’t need me as much as I needed it.” She simply shrugged and twisted her face into an expression which showed that she knew how he felt, and just like that a crack opened in Phil’s heart as he began to feel sorry for someone other than himself. May suddenly leaned forward and Phil unconsciously followed suit until the two of them were a breath away from each other. “But, the big difference between me and you, Phil, is that I love Las Vegas. _Love_ it. My life isn’t fall apart, it’s reshaping, and I’m just going to ride out those shock waves until it settles back down into whatever it’s meant to be.”

“That’s … very philosophical,” said Phil in awe.

“Yes …” She leaned back and squinted at her drink. “I always get this way when cocktails are involved.”

“Not that I mind this, but I do prefer whiskey,” said Phil. May’s eyes widened.

“What? You should have said earlier! I _adore_ whiskey!”

“Really?” said Phil, straightening. “Any kind in particular?”

“I’m not too fussed, to be honest, but I do like a bit of Haig.”

“What? Me too!”

“No way,” May bounced excited in her seat for a moment before throwing her straw out of her drink and starting to chug it down in earnest.

“Ah — what are you doing?” exclaimed Phil, laughing.

May paused a moment, swallowing and wiping at her mouth before explaining. “Well, we gotta get some Haig before we move on to the next place, but at the same time I’m not the type of person who’s just going to leave a cocktail like that. So, you too! Drink up!”

“Cocktail then whiskey? God, you’re a bad influence!” chuckled Phil as he followed suit and started to skull his drink. To that May just grinned wickedly before giving him a sly wink and heading back off towards the bar.

Maybe it was the drink, more likely it was the company, but Phil finally felt some of that deadweight he’d been carrying around in his chest begin to lighten. There was something about this May, something calming yet mischievous, and he hoped that he’d be able to spend even just a little more time with her before she and her friends had to leave for that wedding of theirs.

Then, just like a cold bucket of ice getting splashed all over him, he felt himself stiffen as an old familiar voice called out his name and in the next moment John Garrett had materialised out of nowhere, dressed in swimming trunks and not much else. Just like that, the weight reappeared.

“Well, fancy seeing you poolside, Phil.” Garrett grinned, the expression only touching his mouth. “Didn’t think this was your type of scene. Thought you said you were turning in.”

“Got a better offer,” said Phil coolly.

“Really?” drawled Garrett, eyes flickering down to the oversized glass. “You know, you can order those things through room service. Keep your shame behind doors, right?”

“It’s a drink, Garrett,” said Phil, his voice flat and unimpressed.

Garrett opened his mouth to reply but his attention was suddenly diverted away, eyes widening as his smile became lecherous. Phil turned his head to see what had drawn his attention, although he’d already half guessed. Just as he thought, there was May coming back towards them with a drink in each hand, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she took in Garrett.

“Well, hello gorgeous,” was his ever so charming greeting. May simply made a small noise of disgust and turned her back to him.

“Here you go,” she said, handing Phil one of the glasses, but Garrett wasn’t one to take even obvious hints.

“Wow, Coulson. How did this happen? Only an hour since I last saw you and you already got this lovely little thing out here bringing you drinks.” He leaned in closer to May. “Where’d he pick you up from?”

“Fuck off, Garrett,” snapped Phil, feeling the back of his neck get hot as he listened to how he talked about May. “Workmate,” he muttered to her. “Very soon to be _former_ workmate.”

“Ah.”

Garrett just never knew when to shut his mouth. “You know what, babe? If Coulson here gets a bit old — and trust me, he’ll get old quick — you can always come and take a dip in my — _oomph_!”

Phil spun around just in time to see an irate Daisy standing right where Garrett had been a moment before and after a few seconds of wondering where in the hell he went, Phil realised that Garrett was now doubled over in front of them, winded from a quick blow to the gut.

“Daisy!” cried May, looking shocked but not at all reproachful. Daisy did not look in the least regretful.

“What a creep,” she snarled, shaking her hand slightly as the rest of the ladies came over.

“Okay, and that’s our cue to leave,” said the blonde, Bobbi, looking around nervously as they began to draw unwanted attention from the other guests.

“Yeah, we gotta go. Quick, drink.” May motioned towards Phil’s glass once more.

“What, again?” he said. “This is a terrible waste.”

“Yeah well, blame Daisy.”

“You’re _welcome_.”

“Aw, but we haven’t finished the challenge,” said Jemma, already much more buzzed than she’d been before.

“Oh come on, you can’t be serious!”

“What kind of tattoo are you looking for?” asked Phil as they all started to quickly move away, Garret continuing to moan in the distance.

Piper shrugged. “A sailor’s tattoo. Like, constellations or mythical creatures or whatever.”

Phil bit down on his tongue for a moment. _Oh, what the hell._ “Well, that would be me. I have one like that.”

All six women went completely silent.

“What?” burst out May, stunned. “You’re kidding. You have a tattoo?”

Now it was his turn to shoot her a wicked grin.

Suddenly, Daisy’s attention was diverted to something completely different as she grabbed at the back of Jemma’s shirt. “Babes! I found the churros!”

“Where?” said Jemma, excited — just before she stepped right into the pool.

 

* * *

 

 

From then on the night progressively became more exciting, more heightened, and more fuzzy. Seeing as how Phil had now helped them with two of their challenges he’d then become an honorary member of the group, with he and May usually sticking to the sides as the rest of them did progressively more bizarre stunts that left the rest of them in stitches. Phil wasn’t certain where all the drinks were coming from but at some point he just didn’t care. All that matter was the energy that was coming from this incredible group of friends, and the wonderful feeling he was getting as he and May talked and laughed, and drank, touches lingering and personal space becoming less of an issue as the night went on.

He still clearly remember the wedding. Yes, he ended up being invited to the wedding, and when he rolled up with the rest of the party, a total stranger, the groom-to-be Mack simply shrugged and the whole thing went on as planned with one extra. Everyone stripped off their tutus (and the men from the bucks night lost their neon coloured cowboy hats) and with Jemma as the only exception everyone attended the wedding in what they were already wearing. Jemma was now donned in a complimentary robe they’d snagged from the pool, hair still wet.

A few hours ago Phil would’ve found the whole thing unbelievably tacky, but now as he watched two total strangers exchange vows of love and devotion under the neon lights, he couldn’t help but feel a tightness in his throat and a stinging at his eyes. And as he glanced at May sitting beside him, he saw happy tears tracking their way down her face, too. She noticed him looking and glanced back, smiling brightly, before she took his hand in hers.

Then the reception. And that’s when things become less and less distinct. He remembered dancing, drinking some more, ripping his shirt. He remembered meeting Hunter and being impressed against his will, and seeing Jemma happy-drunk-crying with her boyfriend on one side and Daisy on the other. He remembered May. Her smiled. Her laughter. The way her hair moved as she danced. The taste of her kisses. The feel of her skin …

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as Phil woke up, he remembered why he hated Vegas.

His head was pounded a hectic rhythm even before he opened his eyes. He groaned into the pillow his face was pressed into, his tongue feeling swollen and dry, his entire body aching. Aching in a strange, familiar way …

… with a heavy, soft weight pressed against him …

With a start Phil snapped back to wakefulness, springing up in bed — not his bed — as he looked down and realised that he was now entwined with one very beautiful, very naked May.

His violent movements had woken her up as well, and she let loose a moan of equal pain and regret, throwing her hands over her eyes to block out the sunshine.

“Don’t be so loud,” she grumbled, rolling over, seemingly completely unconcerned. Phil, on the other hand, was feeling a sense of panic beginning to rise within him. A quick look at the time confirmed his worst fears.

_“Shit!”_

“What?” asked May sleepily as Phil leapt out of bed, stumbling as he fumbled about her hotel room, looking for his clothes.

“I’m supposed to be on a flight back home in less than an hour!” he said, desperately trying to dress himself while he searched the room for the rest of his things, all while fighting the urge to throw up any of last nights drinks that where still washing about inside him.

“Oh. So it’s not me, then?” she asked coyly.

At that Phil froze. He swiftly came back to the bed, dropping down next to her, reaching down to cup one hand against the side of her face, his fingers tangled in her hair as he kissed her. He ignored that wonderful post-night taste in favour of just feeling her lips against his. “No,” he said as he pulled away, breathless for a whole other reason. “No, it’s not you. Last night was …”

“Last night was … definitely,” smirked May, settling back into the messed up covers. “But you gotta do what you gotta do. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, even as he flung his clothes on haphazardly.

“Vegas, baby,” she smiled. “You’re kind, and you’re cute. No regrets. But we both have lives to get back to. So, go. Get your flight.”

Phil paused for a moment, checking that he had everything on him. As he reached into his pocket he froze, suddenly pulling out a wad of cash. “What the hell?”

“Oh, I remember that,” said May, cracking open one eye. “You won big last night.”

Phil grinned. “You can say that again.”

“Charmer.”

Phil slipped on his shoes and made his way to the door, stopping short and turning back. “I … this is going to sound so stupid, but I don’t think I ever got your last name? May what?”

May sat up, a twinkle in her eye. “May _is_ my last name. First, Melinda.”

Phil felt like smacking himself. “Right. Gotcha. Nice to meet you, Melinda May.”

“You too,” she beamed. “Thanks for letting me play ‘find the tattoo’.”

Phil grinned, blushed, and quickly made his exit.

 

* * *

 

 

He got to his plane with only seconds to spare, ushered on right at the last moment when everyone else had already been seated so that they all glared at him, Garrett in particular. He knew he stunk and looked pretty horrible, but considering he was already all but fired anyway he really couldn’t find it within himself to care. Yesterday, he might’ve, but now, after last night …

_“I’m just going to ride out those shock waves until it settles back down into whatever it’s meant to be.”_

May’s words tickled against his mind, bringing him a sense of calm. Things would work out. He’d make them work out.

He finally took his seat and breathed a sigh of relief as he just enjoyed the moment for a bit before putting on his seat belt. Then, just as he moved, a small rustling altered him to something thin that had been shoved into the inside pocket of his jacket. He reached in a pulled out a folded sheet of thin cardboard, turning it over a few times, confused, before he pulled it open.

It took a few reads of the single sided piece of text for what he saw to really sink in. And when it did, the dropping of his stomach had nothing to do with the plane taking off.

It was a marriage certificate. Not a fake one. Not a fun one. A real, honest to goodness marriage certificate. Between him and one Melinda Qiaolian May.

What happened in Vegas was not staying in Vegas. It was flying back with him in shaking hands as he made his way back to New York, wondering when exactly when the shock waves from this would settle down.

 

 

 


End file.
